Beauty on the Battlefield
by underthemoonandstars
Summary: A Twice-Blessed demigoddess is born, and she's got a lot of work to do. Operating under multiple prophecies and fighting two wars, Helen Potter rises to the challenge with enough time left over to destroy her enemies and fall in love. Of course, nothing less could be expected from the Daughter of Ares and Aphrodite. Fem!Harry.
1. Helen of Surrey

_Welcome, readers, to Beauty on the Battlefield! Real quick, I just wanted to say there are a few direct J.K. Rowling quotes that I don't own, and that this may greatly resemble one of the DZ2's Twice Blessed Challenge responses but it is not. The nature of the story means there will probably be similarities, but I am at no point following the Challenge's guidelines (I'm not completely sure what they are to be honest). I hope you enjoy the chapter!_

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James and Lily Potter had all the hallmarks of a great love story. Boy meets girl, girl shuts boy down, boy persists to woo girl over several years with unwavering devotion, girl caves and they fall in love. Add in a war, magic, coming from two separate worlds and the fact that James and Lily were both attractive and Aphrodite couldn't be more pleased with this particular couple. The Potter's were on her top ten for Living British Lovers.

She had invested such effort into the pair; she was overjoyed to be getting the payoff. And the best part was she didn't know if it would end a fairytale or a tragedy. They were both frontline soldiers in a civil war, anything could happen. Maybe they'll die together defending innocent children, or even better, one might take a deadly curse for the other and die in their arms. She just couldn't wait!

She was musing on this particular couple when the echoing of whispered words reverberated through her head. She didn't get prayed to as much as she used to, not since the fall of Rome has she had a truly large, devout following. That isn't to say pleads and thanks didn't still come to her; there were still those that practiced the Old Ways after all, and her demigod children often sent words of gratitude, requests, and reminders of their admiration.

This particular prayer was different though, it wasn't a simple invocation of her name, it was a summons- a magic ritual long gone out of style. It was sent to any gods willing to listen, and that's one of the reasons it had been lost. It was foolish to summon just any deity, as there were many who liked to see mortals suffer by twisting requests to that end. Feeling curious about whoever had found the ritual and felt the need to complete it, Aphrodite rose from her luxurious divan in her temple on Mount Olympus and flashed to the ritual sight, keeping herself invisible to the mortal eye.

She was pretty surprised to see James and Lily, the very mortals she'd been thinking about; on their knees, naked, and in a ritual circle drawn from the blood of a ram. It only took a moment more to understand their reasoning, this ritual was often used as a plead by the infertile for a child back in Ancient Greece. Her divine eyes picked up the infertility curse infecting Lily's ovaries. Without help, the poor woman would never have a child of her own.

It wasn't a tough decision for Aphrodite, truly. These mortals were a pair of her favored, in beauty and love, and a child during wartime would only make their story more interesting. The only difficult part of the decision was how she'd grant their desperate request. She could simply heal Lily and let a conception come naturally after that, but there was something distinctly… dissatisfying with that option. There was certainly a level of instant gratification she'd miss out on that way, as it could take months or years for Lily to get pregnant on her own.

Aphrodite felt a sly smile come across her breathtaking face. There was always the option of possessing Lily. It would give all three of them a fun night, guarantee conception, and most importantly, combine her essence with Lily's at the time, granting Aphrodite another demigod child. The child would essentially have three parents, although Aphrodite would be a little more pronounced in the child's mannerisms than the other parents- such was the way in all demigod children: godly features tend to dominate.

Having made up her mind, Aphrodite gleefully let herself sink into the mortal vessel of Lily Potter. Muscles tensed in surprise and fear, but Aphrodite soothed those away easily.

 _Be calm, I'm here to help._

XXXXXXXXXX

Ares felt himself perk up from where he was lounging invisibly at the back of a Death Eater meeting. As the God of War, it behooved him to drop in on war councils every now and again, and the civil war in Magical Britain was of particular interest to him. This Lord Voldemort character was an asshole, and eventually he'd have to be put down (probably around the time that Thanatos or his Uncle Hades realized they were calling their forces 'Death Eaters' and had a hissy fit) but for now he was incredibly entertaining, the way he swooped around torturing his own followers.

The more stringent part of Ares, the personification of War itself, was furious at the foolish tactic. Fear could be a powerful tool, but there was a limit to how much a man could stand before they seek refuge with your enemies just to get away from you, damn the consequences. The bored immortal part of Ares, however, could watch the wizards wage war for hours, making hilarious tactical mistakes and destabilizing their society that was never very resilient or well organized in the first place.

The force that stole Ares attention, however, had nothing to do with a failing Ministry of Magic. It was a prayer, close by and ritualistic in nature. It took him a moment to recognize it, but when he did, a nasty smirk spread across his face. Oh, some _idiot_ wanted a child, did they? It could only be an idiot, as no smart person would leave such an open-ended request for any immortal to answer. Back in the day, this particular ritual had led to a handful of demi-monsters that horrified their mortal parents. He could still remember the time Alecto, one of the Furies, had answered just for kicks. Her half-blood son had been hilarious… and grotesque to look at.

Ares decided to check it out, and maybe even head off some other potential repliers. Thunder Beard would have his head if he learned that Ares was in a position to stop a baby Minotaur from being born, and didn't bother. A godly shift in location left him in a ritual room, with candles, blood sigils and two naked mortals right in the middle. His eyes trailed up the figure of the busty redhead, and he couldn't help but smirk. Aphrodite had been feeling blonde lately, and he could use some variety. With that in mind, Ares moved forward to possess the dark-haired man and get this show on the road. It would end in another demigod kid of his, but he was fine with that- his kids were awesome; these mortals should count themselves lucky.

It wasn't until the ritual was complete that Ares noticed the other divine presence in the room. He grimaced to himself, wondering if he'd just majorly screwed up, when the presence in question removed herself from the mortal woman's body, letting it slump gently to the ground in sleep. Ares would recognize that aura anywhere. He let his own meat suit go with a thump onto the stone floor.

"Aphrodite," he greeted, a smirk on his face.

"Ares," she returned, taking on the guise of the mortal she had just released, only ten times more beautiful. "What are you doing here?"

"Fulfilling my godly duty, of course. Answering prayers, helping mortals, all in a days work," he said sarcastically. Aphrodite rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure. You do realize that Twice-Blessed demigods rarely make it to full-term, right? We probably just crushed their dreams more than helped them," she sighed woefully. Ares shrugged indifferently.

"If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Can't say we didn't try."

"They're a pair of my favored mortals, though. A miscarriage could put a major strain on their relationship," she argued, pout firmly in place. Ares gave her a deadpan stare.

" 'Dite, you love that kind of stuff." A small upturning of her plump lips let him know she wasn't upset with him.

"True. Still, I was hoping to make this more of a war epic where they both barely make it out alive than let a bit of domestic trouble break them. Do you think Eileithyia would bless them if I asked?" she wondered.

"Can't hurt to try. It's my kid too; I don't _want_ it to die. Besides, Twice-Blessed demigods tend to be pretty powerful. Be convenient to have one floating around, just in case," Ares said with a grin. The fact that he could rub it in the face of the other Olympians went without saying.

"Quite," Aphrodite agreed absently, still looking thoughtful about whether she could get the Goddess of Childbirth to do her a favor. With that, Aphrodite flashed from the room in brilliant golden light, probably returning to her temple to think.

Ares returned to the Death Eater meeting. Damn, it looked like someone had gotten fed to the snake and he'd missed it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Nine months later, on July 31st, a beautiful baby girl was born. Her hair was black, darker than even James' dark brown, her skin a beautiful olive tone, and her eyes faded from undecided infant blue to Lily's brilliant emerald green, looking even more amazing in the child's cherub face.

They decided to name her Helen Euphemia Potter, Euphemia after James' late mother, and Helen after Helen of Troy- one of the most beautiful women to ever live according to legend. They opted for a name Greek in origin to honor the Greek ritual that allowed their precious daughter to be born.

Helen enchanted everyone she met. James, Sirius, and Remus were slaves to her little baby will, picking her up at the slightest noise, offering her toy upon toy, playing peek-a-boo for hours just to hear her giggle. Lily knew she'd have to curb that behavior if they didn't want a spoiled brat on their hands, but even Lily found it hard to deny those big innocent eyes everything the world had to offer on a silver platter.

It wasn't just her beauty that set the Potter baby apart, though. The baby seemed fascinated by pointy objects. Her first instance of accidental magic was summoning a kitchen knife to herself- and didn't that just nearly scare Lily to death- and if anything even similar like a pair of scissors or even a screwdriver was left out Helen would some how get her chubby little hands on it. She was also the only baby Lily had ever known that could _glare_ at someone. Principally, she seemed to glare at Peter for some reason whenever he came for a visit. James kept insisting to the poor guy that it was just gas causing the little sneer on Helen's face, but Lily was starting to have doubts. Even with those peculiarities, Helen was still a much-loved child.

For fifteen months, the Potter's lived blissfully with their hard-won daughter. Even the revelation of the prophecy and having to go into hiding couldn't completely depress the Potters. It was worth it to have the child they were starting to doubt they'd ever get.

They were playing together as a family when their blissful happiness was shattered by the arrival of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Tall and inhuman with wicked red eyes and a malevolent aura that nearly choked you, Voldemort swept into the Potter home with deadly grace and speed.

"Lily! Take Helen and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off," James shouted, going forward to meet his fate determinately.

Despite the stinging betrayal in the back of his mind that whispered cruel words about Peter, and the hopelessness of his situation considering he'd left his wand in the other room, James marched up to the most terrifying Dark Lord in centuries with no fear. If he could just buy his daughter and wife enough time to escape, any curse would be worth it. James gave a valiant effort, dodging and exercising all of his limited wandless magic. He even turned into Prongs and nearly gored the sociopath to death before the magical prodigy forced him back into human form. A flash of green light would be the last thing James Potter ever saw alive.

Lily, meanwhile, had barricaded herself in her daughter's nursery. She heard the hissed Killing Curse and the accompanying thump signaling her husband's death, and let out a small sob of despair. The anti-apparition wards just _wouldn't fall_. She was quickly running out of options, especially when she heard the tell tale creak of the second to last stair. Voldemort was on his way up. She quickly stashed her wand away. There was really only one thing left to do, a final desperate gambit she'd read about in the same ancient tomb that she'd found the fertility ritual. Lily kneeled in front of the crib.

"Mummy loves you, baby, so much. I'm not going to let the bad man get you, okay? Mummy will protect you," she whispered, kissing her daughter's smooth forehead.

She stood to face the door, murmuring in Ancient Greek all the while. The spell didn't invoke the power of an outside force like the last one did, but instead used the power of a blood sacrifice as protection: Lily's sacrifice. There would be no fighting, no self-defense. Lily would sacrifice herself for her daughter, and then join James in the Underworld, and it would all be completely worth it. The door blew off its hinges.

"Not Helen, not Helen, please not Helen!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl . . . stand aside now."

"Not Helen, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

"This is my last warning-"

"Not Helen! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy . . . Not Helen! Not Helen! Please- I'll do anything-"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

"No, Please…"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The body of Lily Potter hit the ground with a thump, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

XXXXXXXXXX

Thanatos was having a busy day. But then again, when wasn't he? Mortals dropped like flies. He was sweeping through England, guiding souls to DOA Recording Studios as he went, when he came upon a cottage in Godric's Hollow.

Thanatos would always remember Godric's Hollow as the home of three particular brothers- powerful necromancers whom he had admired, their skill on par with some of his weaker demigod children. He'd appreciated their cleverness so much, in fact, that he'd offered the three a gift each of their choosing if they'd go on a quest for him.

Typically, mortals weren't allowed quests, partially because they seldom believed and partially as it was seen as too interfering to involve mortals in the business of the gods. The Peverall brother's had been exceptions though- practitioners of the Old Ways and part of Hecate's magical community: they just barely counted. With that in mind, Thanatos sent the brothers to collect water from the River Styx. He'd be honest, he didn't need it for anything; he just wanted to see if they could do it.

When they returned victorious, Thanatos granted the promised gifts to the boys: an unbeatable wand, a focus to enhance necromancy: a stone, and a cloak that could turn one invisible. He'd kept his eyes on them after that; it wasn't uncommon for gods to favor certain mortals- ones that exemplified their domain. The eldest had fallen to his own hubris- sad, but not particularly surprising. The second had been driven mad by grief- again, not shocking. He'd seen plenty follow lost lovers into the Underworld. The youngest was special, though. Wiser than his brothers, he lived a long and happy life and accepted his death with an ease and grace Thanatos wished other mortals could try to match.

Thanatos had tried to keep an eye on their descendants, hoping for a reemergence of the brother's talents. The eldest, Antioch, had died childless, but the second, Cadmus, had had one child. The line continued to this day- each descendent getting more disappointing than the last. The only remaining descendent of Cadmus- Tom Riddle- was especially disappointing, being a despotic murderer and all. He did have the Peverell gift for necromancy, though. Figures it would reemerge in the craziest of the lot.

Ignotus' descendants had been much more pleasing. None had much ability in necromancy but they had been good people, powerful, and talented in various other magical arts. And if Thanatos wasn't mistaken, the cottage at the end of the road beckoning to him with the giant hole in the roof was their last known living residence.

Thanatos swept toward the structure, sensing three bodiless souls and one living. In the living room, looking as confused as anything was the immortal soul of James Potter. With a grimace of disappointment, Thanatos guided the rather accepting spirit to LA. A lot like his ancestor, that one. No screaming or fighting or insisting it was a mistake. Just cool acceptance.

Sweeping up the staircase, Thanatos entered the nursery to finish the job. He was a bit surprised-which is quite an achievement because he's seen just about everything- to find a mutilated wraith of a spirit escaping through the hole in the roof. If it was moving under it's own power it must be tethered to the living plane somehow. Maybe Horcruxes? Thanatos narrowed his eyes. No one escaped him. That disfigured spirit would suffer immensely in the Fields of Punishment for the insult. But first, the other soul pieces must be found. Already irritated by the prospect of extra work, Thanatos turned to the whole soul of a young woman who must be James' wife. She was staring intently into the crib, where Thanatos could sense the only living soul in the place.

"It worked," she breathed, staring at the unconscious infant girl. Thanatos stepped forward to gain her attention.

"It's time to move on. I'm sure your husband is waiting for you," Thanatos commanded, quiet yet stern. Mothers tended to be reluctant to leave young children, and Thanatos was not in the mood for an argument. Ignotus' descendent was murdered by an arrogant mortal trying to dodge his fate. He was quite short of patience at the moment.

"Of course," she murmured, still looking at the infant. She leaned down and gave the baby a final, insubstantial kiss on the cheek. "Be safe, Helen."

Thanatos held his hand out and she took it, allowing him to lead her to the entrance of the Underworld. Still in the cottage, Thanatos looked down on the infant in curiosity. He could sense… disruptions in the young soul. This girl, Helen, was the very last of Ignotus' family; she must be worth a closer look.

A thorough examination of her soul and a peculiar lightning bolt shaped cut (and wouldn't Zeus be displeased that a mortal dared to brand someone with his symbol) nearly sent him into a rage. Well, it looked like he had found one of the Horcruxes. He contemplated removing it right then and there, but hesitated. Having a piece of his soul could be useful one day, if the wraith ever opted to try and get revenge. It would recognize its brethren: the other soul pieces. It may work as a sort of warning system for the girl. Or even better, help her track the others down.

Thanatos felt a small, rarely used smile curl the very edges of his lips. It _had_ been quite some time since he'd sent a Peverell on a quest. Perhaps it was time to have another go at it. And if he was reading it right, he wouldn't even have to bend the rules for the girl. She was far more than mortal: a demigoddess of considerable power. Decision made, Thanatos promised himself that he would keep an eye on the girl. He had a feeling she would do great things one day. The sound of a mortal entering the cottage echoed through the house, and Death let himself be carried away on any icy wind. He had more souls to reap this night.

XXXXXXXXXX

The Dursley's of Number Four, Privet Drive valued normality above all else. They had no patience for oddities or freakishness. They thrived in their cookie-cutter neighborhood, with their company car and their precious son: Dudley. Life was good for Vernon and Petunia Dursley; or at least, it was, until the Potter girl showed up on their doorstep.

If Petunia had had it her way, the brat would have been in an orphanage so fast it would have made her head spin. She didn't want the spawn of her freaky sister infecting her perfect life: a constant reminder of her horrid sister and all the terrible emotions that came with. Unfortunately, she wanted her family killed by magical terrorists even less, so due to the blood protection, the brat had to stay. That wouldn't mean she'd treat the brat like her own though. She'd never let the girl forget how little she was wanted in their lives.

It was Vernon's idea that they keep her in the cupboard under the stairs, not wanting her near where they slept. Petunia more than agreed, also deciding they wouldn't buy the girl anything of her own. She didn't want to spend money on the little freak; hand-me-downs were more than good enough for a burden. They decided they would do everything they could to force the freakishness out of her, and they meant it. Maybe by the time they were done, she wouldn't be a witch anymore, just as common as anyone else.

Her plan wasn't nearly as successful as she'd hoped. The girl was uncommonly beautiful, even as a toddler. When they'd go to the park, it was the girl who other parents would come and compliment her on. They'd go on and on about how adorable she was and how proud Petunia should be. They never had anything to say about her Dudley, which proved just how poor of taste those infernal women were.

As she grew older, the girl seemed to decide that she could hate the Dursleys just as much as they hated her. She'd glare and sneer at them, make sarcastic comments, and taunt them on occasion, usually in the protection of their own home. Impertinent as the girl was, she understood the value of keeping up appearances. She even had the gall to get into physical altercations with Dudley! He'd come in bawling, claiming that Helen had shoved him or kicked him, or tripped him into the playground equipment. Her response was always the same, even though Petunia knew she must have been lying.

"He hit me first! Don't get snippy just because I finished what he started."

Lies, all poisonous lies! Her perfect Dudders wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone hit a girl, even though she did deserve it.

When they started school, the girl became even more intolerable. Notes were sent home, advising testing for dyslexia and ADHD. Petunia and Vernon were firm believers that those were just excuses for lazy or stupid people not to try. The little idiot was struggling to read, so what? They certainly weren't going to spend money on testing for the freak, let alone a special tutor. The part that really frustrated Petunia the most, however, was that despite her 'disabilities' the girl still got better grades than Dudley.

Parent teacher conferences just made her angry. The blasted girl was practically a hero to her foolish teachers for overcoming such 'obstacles.' She was apparently well liked by her classmates, especially the boys. The only good part was how they'd mention having to reprimand her often for not paying attention and a few subtle comments about her having a short temper, but even that was spoiled when they once again questioned Petunia about getting her ADHD discussed with a doctor.

The teachers had almost no good things to say about Dudley. Words like 'bully' and 'unfocused' and 'extra-help' were brought up more than once. Petunia just knew it had something to do with the freak girl, that she was poisoning the teachers against her precious son, who was the farthest thing from a bully imaginable.

Petunia punished the girl incessantly after that. The clothing she was given was more ragged; the chores list longer, the rations shorter. It only served to make the girl cuter though. She went from an adorable child who liked wearing boy's clothes, to a Cinderella figure in their community. An older neighbor of hers even had the audacity to ask if Vernon had lost his job, as if they couldn't _afford_ to cloth a second child! Petunia insisted that the girl liked to dress like that, and Petunia just couldn't bear to deny her. The old woman looked skeptical, but let it go.

The worst thing of all though, was the magic. It didn't happen too often, but often enough to keep Petunia on her toes. There was the instance Dudley told her about: the girl teleporting on to the school roof. Petunia had lied to her darling son and insisted that she must have been caught by the wind. The girl was locked in her cupboard for two weeks after that.

Then there was the time with the sweater. It was brown with orange puffballs and the girl had blatantly refused to wear it, claiming it was so ugly it was insulting, the ungrateful brat. When Petunia had tried to force it on her, the thing had started shrinking until it was the size of a sock puppet. Petunia was so unnerved by seeing the magic actually happen that she didn't even punish the girl.

The most personal instance though was the hair. Petunia had heard one too many compliments about how beautiful her niece was. Petunia couldn't take it anymore; every time it was brought up it reminded her of her own childhood. How it felt to be the plain one, while Lily was the beautiful Evans daughter, the smart one that went to a private boarding school and married a handsome, rich husband. All that hurt and rage bubbled up, and she took a pair of scissors to her niece's cascade of beautiful, silky black curls. Let's see how pretty she is bald. It was one of the only times she'd managed to make the angry little brat cry, and the vindictive pleasure had been nearly overwhelming. Until the next morning, that was, when the demon child walked in to the kitchen with all of her long curls in place, a perfect wave flowing down her back.

The freaks rage had been… terrifying. The next morning she'd woken up to a pair of scissors lodged firmly into her bedroom door, keeping in place a family Christmas photo of her, Dudley and Vernon, the scissors stabbed right through her face. Petunia spent a week in abject terror, triple checking that the cupboard door was locked every night. The brat never did anything more in revenge, but the threat was clear- touch her hair again and suffer.

The children were ten and the brat still found new and innovative ways to enrage Petunia. Dudley often insisted that the brat was trying to steal his friends, as they all had little crushes on her. Petunia already knew the girl would be a whore when she got older; there was no way around it. She hoped that the freak didn't get pregnant; they were not raising another one in this house. She'd sooner see the girl in the streets, magical terrorists be damned.

If she wasn't stealing Dudley's friends, she was slacking on her chores. Petunia had to threaten long-term starvation to get the brat to weed the garden; she didn't like the dirt under her nails apparently. Then there were the more subtle slaps in the face, like at her and Dudley's class Halloween party. Petunia had gone out and bought Dudley a top-notch pirate costume, the best made and most expensive she could. She'd tossed an old sheet at the freak and told her to go as a ghost with a nasty smile on her face. The freak had looked from the sheet to Petunia a few times, lips pursed, before shrugging and walking away.

Petunia was positive she'd won that one until she showed up as a parent chaperone at the party. She'd expected to see a pathetic ghost in the corner, her beauty for once obscured by the sheet. Instead, she saw a Greek goddess in the middle of the room- the very life of the party. The sheet had been refashioned into a white chiton, her black curls were pinned elegantly, and she was carrying a little stuffed dove in her hand- perhaps one of the many stuffed animals lost to the void of Dudley's second bedroom; rejected for not being 'boyish' enough. When the girl noticed Petunia's arrival she smiled pleasantly in her aunt's direction, but Petunia could practically see the infernal child adding a point on a mental scoreboard, signaling that she'd won this round. Petunia hated her more than ever.

Now it was Dudley's eleventh birthday and Petunia swore she'd let nothing ruin it. The girl would be staying with Mrs. Figg down the road while Vernon and Petunia took their son to the zoo. They would enjoy a nice day as a family with no freak to drag them down.

If only it were that easy.

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen Potter hated her relatives. Any one who shoved a kid in a closet for ten years deserved her malice, but this was personal because _she_ was that kid. She'd put up with it of course, what choice did she have? As far as she knew she had no other family, being orphaned and all, and she really didn't want to live on the streets. She'd seen… strange things on the streets before. Demon dogs the size of compact cars digging through the trash and one-eyed men that no one else seemed to notice. She would rush home as soon as she spotted them, and they never seemed to be able to find her at the Dursley's, even if a few had tried to follow her home.

Strange street creatures aside, Helen still hated living with her relatives. Principally because they hated her and never let her forget it. When she had been younger she'd yearned for their approval, wanted them to love her. She'd figured out it wasn't going to happen pretty quick, though, and by the time she started school she hated them as much as they hated her. Maybe more, at least she had a reason to hate them, unlike their inexplicable hatred of an innocent child.

If they wanted a fight, she'd give them a fight. Maybe they could force her to do a ridiculous amount of housework, and wear ugly hand-me-downs that were out-of-fashion when they were still new, and lock her up and starve her. But that didn't mean she couldn't get them back in her own way. She considered herself to be in a constant state of war with the Dursleys and it was a war she would win.

Her greatest weapon was her looks. She knew she was pretty, and she ruthlessly took advantage of that fact. She'd charmed the neighborhood early on, and it wasn't hard when her competition was Dudley. She knew her clothes made her look like some sort of fairytale slave girl, and when the old lady up the street asked if she liked to dress like that, she'd given a polite 'no ma'am' and left it at that. The woman, Mrs. Geering, was quick to draw her own conclusions. Rumors of Vernon's termination at work flew for months and she did nothing to stop it.

Helen wasn't just a pretty face though, she was much more than that and resented that it was all some people saw in her. When school started and she realized reading would be hard for her, she was determined to overcome it. She read relentlessly at school, and practiced writing her letters whenever she could, as well as spelling. She'd never do as well as she could have without dyslexia, but she did much better than any of the teachers expected of her when her condition became common knowledge to them. Much better than Dudley, which was part of the point. She wanted to show the Dursley's how exceptional she was compared to them, how she could outshine their son even with a disability. She wasn't beaten down; they'd only made her stronger.

Then she focused on friends. She wasn't a monster and considered Dudley to be more of a spoiled idiot than an evil presence that must pay (like his parents) so she didn't try to isolate him socially and leave him with no friends. But she did reach out a bit to the friends he did have, building bridges to ensure they'd hesitate if Dudley ever tried to set them on her.

She'd made many 'friends' of her own too. A strong social circle could come in handy if Vernon and Petunia ever tried to turn the neighborhood against her (again). She had many acquaintances, but if she was honest, no close friends. How could she? It's not like she could take them home for a paly date. Where would they play? Her cupboard? No, she was different from the other children. Strange things happened around her, like the time she'd just appeared on the roof or shrunk Dudley's ugly sweater. It made it hard to get close to anyone.

The last front in her Dursley war was physical. If Dudley was going to start a fight she was going to _end_ it. She was stronger than she looked, and more importantly, she could take a hit and keep going. Dudley was down after the first bruise and that was always her advantage. She was pretty quick too, running and dodging came naturally.

There were many other instances of civil disobedience but the point was she might go along with their rules and restrictions because she had no choice, but there was still fight in her.

It was Dudley's eleventh birthday, and it was just another battle to be fought. There was the Battle of the Stove, where she made them breakfast but managed to swipe a few pieces of bacon for herself. Then came the Battle of Basic Addition (which was really only a battle for Dudley) where Helen was at peace knowing that even though Dudley would get thirty-eight presents this year and she would get none for her birthday, at least she could count to thirty eight. The main event was to take place at the Battle of London Zoo.

Originally, Helen wasn't supposed to go with them to the zoo, and she was fine with that. Time away from the Dursley's was a blessing from the gods, even if it came at the cost of time with Mrs. Figg. Unfortunately, Mrs. Figg had broken her leg tripping over her small army of cats (and it truly was an army- Helen had once mobilized them to fight a neighborhood raccoon invasion, but that's another story) and couldn't take her for the day. With no options, and afraid to leave her home alone ever since the scissors-in-door incident (that's what you get for touching her precious hair), the Dursley's were forced to take her.

She sat in the back, smashed between Dudley and his best friend: Piers Polkiss. Piers was friendly with her, had been ever since she'd helped him pick up his homework in the crowded hallway after a rip in his backpack sent the contents scattering to the floor. Helen got the impression that he only hung out with Dudley for protection. He was the weedy sort- incredibly skinny and would have made an easy target for bullies if he hadn't gotten in good with the biggest one at school. Helen couldn't fault his self-preservation but he was becoming a bit of jerk hanging out with bullies all the time.

The ride to London was relatively violence free as they all listened to Uncle Vernon wax poetic about the things he hated. That list was long but he mostly kept it to Helen, motorcycles, Helen, facial piercings, Helen, some politician she'd never heard the name of, and Helen. Helen was fine with that as the hatred was mutual.

When they arrived at the zoo, the first thing they did was stop at an ice cream stand. Helen could tell Vernon and Petunia would try to avoid getting her anything, so she made sure to make eye contact with the vendor in order to get asked what she wanted. Helen got a lemon icy out of spite against her relatives more than love for ice cream. She saw the disgruntled expression on her aunt's face and counted it as a win. The icy tasted like victory.

They perused the zoo, and Helen made sure to stand a few paces behind them at all times as if it would disassociate her from their group. She could even pretend she was here with people she liked if she tried hard enough. They whipped through the large cats, the monkeys, the zebras, and the petting zoo. They had a few boars in the petting zoo, kept behind a fence, who she could have sworn were following her with their beady eyes. The feeling was repeated in the bird house, where a dove nearly smashed itself into the glass wall of its habitat trying to get a good look at her. Helen beat a hasty retreat.

After the bird house was lunch, where Helen had the pleasure of watching her obese cousin and uncle rip through hamburgers like they were going out of style. She was used to this show, but Piers seemed a little less resilient despite having been over for dinner a few times. He pushed his chicken fingers away only half finished and tried to avoid looking at his friend while he ate. Dudley ate the rest of his chicken fingers.

After lunch came the reptile house. Dudley must have been pretty excited for the reptiles because he was waddling along faster than normal. Helen kept her relaxed pace and entered after the rest. She was greeted with the site of Dudley banging on the window showing a large python that wasn't doing much. After a few futile minutes and some intense complaining at the lack of action, Dudley moved on to some of the other poor creatures. Helen strolled over to the python.

"Hello, there. I'm sorry about him. He doesn't understand what it's like to live in a cage," Helen murmured sympathetically. She felt a bit of kinship with the reptile. She was just as trapped as the snake, and had the same ugly people tapping her cupboard door as the snake had tapping its window. The only difference was Helen could tap back. And she intended too. The snake seemed to take her words to heart too, as its head rose up about level with hers, as if it was listening intently. Helen felt her eyes widen.

"Er, where are you from?" she blurted, not sure what to say to an uncommonly intelligent reptile. The snake's tail gestured toward a plaque beside its habitat. Helen's eyes widened further. It could actually understand her!

"Brazil? Oh, bred in captivity. Rotten luck," she mused, still stunned. The snake nodded its commiseration.

"Dudley! Mr. Dursley! Look what the snake's doing!" shouted Piers Polkiss. Helen had just enough time to grit her teeth in irritation at being interrupted in the only intelligent conversation she'd gotten all day, when an elbow to the ribs sent her to the floor, her cousins ugly mug now pressed up against the glass. Helen made to push herself up so she could beat the stuffing out of the brute she unwillingly called her cousin when she stopped in astonishment as the glass disappeared and Dudley went tumbling into the tank with a wail of fear.

Out slithered an eight-foot python. It gleefully made its way toward the door while the zoo patrons shrieked in fear. It looked back over at her for a moment, still splayed on the ground in surprise.

" _Thanksss amiga."_

And the snake was gone. A meaty hand dragged her up and she was staring into the purple face of her uncle while her aunt moaned in fear and Dudley spluttered in the tanks shallow pool.

"What did you do?" he barked, looking madder than she could remember him ever being at the moment.

"Nothing!" she replied, quick and to the point. What was she to say? She had no idea how the glass disappeared. She was forcibly pulled back to the car, and once more smashed between the two boys. The only difference was now Piers was babbling and Dudley was soaked. The ride home was tense and awkward and Helen knew she would be doing hard time in the cupboard for this, even though she had no idea what exactly happened.

She was tossed in to the cupboard by a rough hand as soon as they got home and it would be well in to summer vacation by the time she was freed. July that summer was hot, and the Dursleys made her do extra gardening because they're awful, or at least she was pretty sure that was their motivation. Helen kept her chin up though. It was nothing she couldn't handle; she always tanned well anyway, so who was really losing?

A week before her eleventh birthday, things were more or less the same. She had to make breakfast, stole some sausages without guilt, and was planning to escape to the park down the street before an unreasonable chore was stacked onto her thin shoulders. The only difference she could think of was that Dudley had received his uniform for the school he'd be attending in the fall: Smeltings. More than being just hideous (and oh was it hideous- from it's burnt orange color to it's old fashioned cut and awful hat) the uniform also included a stubby stick that the boys were supposed to hit each other with when teachers weren't looking- supposedly this would build character. The only character it's built in Dudley so far was that of fear.

He'd tried exactly one time to smack Helen with the Smeltings stick. She'd proceeded to dodge the blow, snatch the stick out of his hand, and smack him on the back of the head so hard with it that he'd collapsed in the park where they were having their little confrontation. She'd leveled the stick at his prone form and gave him the most menacing glare in her arsenal.

"Try that again, and next time I'll be aiming for your bits," she snarled, before dropping the stick next to his thick head. Needless to say, Dudley kept the Smeltings stick to himself after that. She must have scared him pretty badly, because he didn't even tell his parents that she'd hit him. Good. He should be scared. This fear happened to blow up in Helen's face that very morning when the post arrived.

"Dudley, get the mail," Vernon grunted into his coffee cup.

"Make Helen get it," he replied.

"Helen, get the mail," he repeated.

"Make Dudley get it," she mocked.

"Dudley, hit her with the stick," Vernon commanded. Helen could practically see the flash of indecision in her cousin's eyes. Very pointedly, she made eye contact before letting her eyes trail south. The terror on his face was hilarious.

"You know what, I think I'll get it myself," he stuttered out before fleeing the kitchen. Helen resisted the urge to smile, especially when she noticed Aunt Petunia's suspicious glare aimed at her.

"Oi! The freak's got a letter! Who'd be writing to you?" Dudley questioned, fear forgotten. Helen lifted a single eyebrow. Who _would_ write to her? A friend from school, maybe? She'd gotten a few postcards from acquaintances gone on vacation somewhere interesting, but never a full-blown letter.

"Are you sure it's for her, Dudders?" Aunt Petunia asked, taking the letter from his hand. Helen went to go snatch the letter from her aunt, it was her mail after all, but was stopped by the biggest over-reaction in human history.

Aunt Petunia went very pale, and started clutching her throat convulsively. She was staring at the letter, which Helen noticed was oddly thick and yellowish in color, with absolute horror etched on her features.

"Vernon! It's… it's… _them_!" she choked in a raspy voice. Uncle Vernon went from normal to puce in no time flat.

"No, absolutely not. I'll not have one of them in the house!" he spluttered.

"One of what? Who sent that? I want to know, it's my letter," Helen demanded, patience gone. Vernon and Petunia whipped around like they'd just remembered Helen and Dudley were in the room.

"Get out!" Uncle Vernon thundered, making to grab Helen and Dudley. "Out of the kitchen! Now!" he barked.

"Not without my letter," Helen refuted, getting well and truly frustrated. Vernon seemed not to hear her.

"Out!" he shouted once more, throwing her bodily into the hallway. "Dudley, go to your room."

"But I want to see," Dudley whined as if he had any right.

"No, there's nothing to see, now go!" he commanded, surprising Helen and Dudley. It wasn't often he got told no. Dudley was pushed, rather gently, into the hall as well before the door was closed sharply.

Dudley stuck his ear to the keyhole while Helen listened through the crack at the bottom of the door.

"Vernon, what are we going to do?" Petunia fretted, sounding panicked.

"Nothing," he declared resolutely. "We'll do nothing. No reply. No acknowledgement. Nothing. The freaks will have to give up."

"I don't know if that'll work Vernon," Petunia said unsurely. Vernon chuckled nervously.

"Don't worry, Pet. These people aren't like us. They don't think the same way."

"I suppose you're right. But what if they're watching the house?"

Vernon seemed to contemplate that for a moment.

"You may be on to something. We'll just have to make sure they have no reason to act," he mumbled mostly to himself.

And with that, the conversation was over. Uncle Vernon ripped the letter into tiny pieces and Aunt Petunia began washing the dishes. Later that day, Vernon visited Helen in her cupboard for the first time in living memory.

"Helen, I was thinking, you really are getting too big for this, er, cupboard. Petunia and I discussed it, and we decided that from now on you can stay in Dudley's second bedroom," he managed to spit out.

Helen could feel the sneer taking over her face. Should she be grateful that after a decade of being shoved in a dark, dusty, spider infested closet they were more or less blackmailed by mysterious letter senders that may or may not be watching the house to give her the smallest bedroom filled with broken crap? She shared none of this though. This was an opportunity she wouldn't miss.

Dragging her stuff upstairs took all of one trip and they hadn't bothered to clean the room up for her. She spent the rest of the day trying to shove Dudley's stuff into inconspicuous places, taking what little still had value- like the working alarm clock she found under a pile of never-been-worn clothes. The clothes offered another opportunity. They were obviously boys clothes, but too small for Dudley. Probably gifts that didn't fit and got tossed in here in response. All of it was still too big for her, but better than what she was working with already. Looks like she'd gotten a new wardrobe too.

As it turns out, they'd failed to inform Dudley of what was going on until she was already moved in. The tantrum when he did discover it would go down in Privet Drive history. He cried, screamed, threw up, threw his pet turtle out the window, smashed a series of expensive electronics, and even smacked his mothers hand with the smelting stick (which had gotten him his first ever angry lecture from his father) and he still didn't have his room back. Helen couldn't stop herself from giving Dudley a smug smile the next morning at breakfast.

The mail came again, and it was Aunt Petunia who got to it first, so it was Aunt Petunia who proceeded to burn several yellowish letters in the fireplace and ignore Helen's demands that she hand one over. Things spiraled out of control after that.

Owls were stalking the house, letters were flying about constantly, Helen had been locked in her room to keep her from snatching one, and when they started shooting from the fireplace, well, that was the last straw. Uncle Vernon packed them all up in the car, barely giving Helen time to snatch up some of her 'new' clothes before they set off to the seaside. There were a lot of strange driving maneuvers, back tracking, traveling down unnecessary country roads, and the like, but eventually they were headed toward a small shack on a rocky island while Uncle Vernon cradled a long thin package in his arms.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley whispered to his mother. Petunia hushed him, but she looked just as nervous of her husbands deteriorating mental state.

It was nearing midnight that night, and Helen was curled up on the freezing, damp ground, counting down the minutes until her birthday with Dudley's digital watch. It wasn't every day you turned eleven, now, was it? Thunder and lightning cracked through the sky, the storm having started a few hours ago. Helen thought it was an appropriately dreary backdrop to this dreary husk of a building. It added a little drama if nothing else.

As a crack of thunder shook the building, Dudley's watch signaled the arrival of her birthday, and the door to the shack went flying off its hinges.


	2. The Mirror of Erised is a Huge Let Down

Rubeus Hagrid, according to Helen Potter, will always be one of the greatest men to ever live. He was gigantic with a bushy brown beard, beetle black eyes, and a rough dialect. Sure, he was a tad forgetful and on the dim-witted side, but in Helen's opinion that just made him more likable.

Within twenty minutes of knowing Hagrid he'd revealed Helen's status as a witch, given her an invitation to a magical school called Hogwarts, told the truth about her parents demise, threatened Uncle Vernon, twisted a long shotgun in to a pretzel, gave her the very first birthday cake she could remember receiving, and _gave Dudley a curly pig tail_. It was brilliant! Best birthday ever! They'd stayed the night in the shack on the rock before heading out for her school supplies the next morning.

Helen tried her best to dress up for the occasion. A white button up shirt too large for her and cut in a masculine style, was paired with dark-wash jeans that needed to be rolled up at the ankle and the belt cinched twice around her waist. She was dressed better than she had been in a while thanks to her new room, but the clothing was still honestly ridiculous on her. Hagrid didn't seem to notice though and that was one more point in his favor. Obliviousness was it's own blessing.

After riding back to the mainland, and finagling a bus to London, Helen helped Hagrid maneuver through the Underground while Hagrid blurted odd words like 'muggle' and 'portkey' and generally did a bad job of keeping the magical world incognito. Helen was starting to wonder how they'd stayed a secret so far, and she hadn't even seen it yet. Eventually, Hagrid and Helen ended up in a grimy little pub called the Leaky Cauldron that everyone else on the street seemed to pass without seeing.

An offhand comment about her name to the bartender ended up with people swarming her, trying to shake her hand and thanking her profusely. She was also referred to as the Girl-Who-Lived a lot and she hadn't the foggiest idea what that even meant. She was internally torn between basking in the attention like a flower in the sun or lashing out at the strangers for daring to enter her personal space. She compromised by smiling in a charming manner while trying to edge out of the room.

Hagrid introduced her to one of her future teachers who was also at the pub: Professor Quirrell. The guy was a wreck in Helen's opinion. He stuttered incessantly, wrung his hands together nervously, and if children were supposed to learn to defend themselves from anything more dangerous than a butterfly from this guy then they were all well and truly screwed. He also gave off a vibe that Helen just didn't like. It whispered across her skin, making her tense and sending her ADHD into overdrive. She must have scanned the room five times in his presence, not even sure what she was looking for.

Hagrid and Helen eventually escaped the masses to a courtyard behind the pub, where Hagrid whipped out the little pink umbrella that had given Dudley a tail, and tapped it to the bricks in a rhythmic pattern. Before Helen's very own eyes, the bricks shifted to form a grand arch that led to one of the strangest streets in existence: Diagon Alley. Vendors of all shapes and sizes were selling the strangest wares- everything from shaved unicorn horn (and unicorns were apparently real!) to spell books.

Their first stop was at the grandest building of the lot- a solid white marble bank called Gringotts. It was the fanciest building she'd ever stepped foot in, filled with grand oak desks, golden chandeliers, and a clever poem at the entrance that almost sounded more like a challenge than a warning. The floor was a bizarre mosaic that at first seemed completely random, but the longer Helen looked at it the more it began to resemble… a dark Greek helmet of some kind? Strange.

The goblins were rude, but Helen was more than used to rudeness considering whom she grew up with. More importantly, they were no nonsense and got straight to the point. It didn't take long before she was on a mining cart hurtling straight into the Earth. Hagrid looked ready to throw up everything he'd ever eaten but Helen was enjoying the wind running through her hair and the adrenalin such speed gave her.

They ended up in front of the Potter Trust Vault and Helen nearly had a heart attack when she saw the _piles of gold_ sitting in there, all hers. She filled a sack with the strange coins quickly. They made another stop at vault 713 so Hagrid could pick up a grubby little package for 'Hogwarts business' before heading back to the surface. Helen made sure to exchange some of her gold for pounds before leaving. She was going to have trousers that fit her! Made for girls!

Hagrid was still looking a little green from the cart ride, so he sent Helen off to get her robes, while he went back to the Leaky Cauldron for a pick-me-up. Not the most responsible thing for a chaperone to do, but she was nothing if not independent. Helen Potter entered Madam Malkins with her head held high.

XXXXXXXXXX

Draco Malfoy was excited. This was it. He was going to Hogwarts, _finally_. He'd been waiting his whole life for his acceptance letter. He had it all planned out. He was going to get into Slytherin, get fantastic grades, be a star Quidditch player, and have a ton of friends. He was going to do the Malfoy name proud. But first, he had to finish his robe fitting.

Some silly woman was pinning his school uniform when a tinkle from the front door grabbed his attention. He was sequestered in the back for his fitting so he didn't have a direct eye line with the door, but he could still hear the new customer.

"Hello, dear. Are you here for the Hogwarts uniform too?" the voice of Madam Malkin inquired.

"Yes, ma'am. But I was also hoping to maybe get a few day-to-day robes? And definitely something to wear out if that can happen?" the new customer probed. She sounded young to Draco, maybe a girl his age? Perhaps this would be a good chance to start the 'have tons of friends' part of his seven-year plan.

"Of course, deary. What you're in is much too big anyway. Why don't you head on to the back, there's a boy getting fitted for his Hogwarts robes as well."

"Thanks."

Draco wasn't sure what he was expecting to come back there and join him but it certainly wasn't his first crush, which is exactly what he got. She had smooth, olive-toned skin, dark hair cascading down her back in waves, and the blush of youth about her cheeks. Her features were eye-catching, almost… regal in their perfect symmetry. Her eyes were emerald green and framed with lashes as dark as her hair. All the smooth and proper greetings he had drilled into his head by his parents jumped out the window. He'd never liked a girl before, he was only eleven after all, but he didn't think it would be this mind numbing.

She had a little smirk on her lips, as if she was used to this particular reaction from boys her age. She stepped up on the stool beside his, dressed in some sort of muggle get-up that was the only detracting part of her appearance, and he still had no words.

Madam Malkin bustled back with a charmed tape measurer that was already taking the beautiful girl's measurements and a uniform that she pulled over the girl's head to be hemmed. A sharp prick to his ankle from his own hem job brought him back to reality.

"Mal- Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he stuttered, fighting off a grimace. Oh, if only his parents could see him now. They'd be ashamed.

She seemed to look him over for a moment, before letting her lip quirk into a little smile.

"Helen. It's nice to meet you, Draco," she replied formally. Draco didn't even notice that she left her last name out.

"Y-you too," he replied, blushing a bit. Draco pretended not to notice the two seamstresses sharing knowing smirks, most probably at his expense. He tried to keep the conversation going.

"You're a First Year too, right? Do you know what House you'll be in?" he asked. This was a safe topic, something he could work with. She seemed to pause for a second before humming non-committedly.

"I can't say that I do. How about you?" she deflected. Draco took the chance to fill the silence.

"Well, no one really knows before they actually get there, but I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin. My whole family has been for generations," he babbled. And on it went. Draco continued to ask questions, that Helen deflected and he shared just to have something to say. Helen was exchanging the Hogwarts uniform for a blood red day-robe when the topic of family came up.

"What Houses were your parents in?" he asked, hoping at least one of them was a Slytherin. That would up his chances of being in the same House as her.

"No clue. They died when I was young and the relatives I live with don't like to talk about it," she replied, voice a little sterner, as if daring Draco to continue this line of questioning. Draco wanted to drown himself right there for bringing it up. Or maybe the Earth would crack open under his feet and swallow him up. That'd work too.

"Oh, you poor dear," Madam Malkin clucked sympathetically as she exchanged the red robe for a green one that matched Helen's eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he squeaked, really meaning it and feeling like an idiot.

"It was a long time ago," she offered, closing the topic thankfully.

"You're done, Mr. Malfoy," the assistant that was helping him said. Draco didn't know whether to be sad that he couldn't talk to Helen anymore or grateful that he could walk away from his major blunder.

"I have to go," he mentioned to Helen, trying to be polite. "See you on the train?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

"I don't see why not. Have a nice day, Draco," she said, examining her reflection in the green robe. Draco thought it looked lovely on her.

XXXXXXXXXX

After getting her uniform and a few other robes, including the red one she was currently wearing over her muggle hand-me-downs, Helen met up with Hagrid again and they proceeded to decimate the rest of her school list. Spell books, potion ingredients, scales, a telescope, parchment, ink, and various other supplies were added to the trunk she'd bought until all that was left on her list was a wand and her pet. She was excited; a real magic wand was exactly what she needed to start feeling like a real witch.

Hagrid left her at Ollivander's, claiming he had to go get a surprise. Ollivander was an unsettling old man with white flyaway hair and ancient eyes. Helen felt over-exposed in his presence.

"I was wondering when I'd be seeing you in my shop, Helen Potter. It seems like it was just yesterday your parents were in here for their first wands. Your mother's wand was ten and three-quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

"Of course," Helen murmured, feeling a little uncomfortable now. Ollivander seemed to stare at her intensely.

"Ah, I see. You have a spark of divinity about you, Miss Potter," he informed her.

"A spark of _what_?" she asked, completely bewildered. He gave a negligent wave of his hand.

"Don't worry, it will all become clear in time."

Then he started shoving wands into her hand. Many of them did nothing when she waved them, and others simply caused random bouts of destruction, which, while cool, weren't very productive. The lack of progress was depressing Helen, but Ollivander just seemed to get more excited.

"A tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find something. I wonder…" he muttered, mostly to himself. He headed to the dark recesses of his shop and emerged with a few boxes that seemed older than all the other ones.

He started passing her these wands and nothing happened until the third try. The wood was light, with a reddish tint to it and a handle beautifully carved to look like roses were twisting about the base. The tip on the other hand was pointed where most of the others where blunt. It looked sharp enough to poke someone's eye out. Helen loved it immediately. A warm feeling pulsed through her on contact with the wand. She waved it and blood red sparks exploded from the tip. Ollivander was shooting her a considering look.

"Curious… very curious…" he murmured. Helen was just about done with all his cryptic mumbling.

"What's curious, _Sir_?"

"You have a very rare wand in your hand, Miss Potter. A perfect foot in length, made of rosewood and the heartstring of a drakon," he informed her.

"A dragon?" Helen questioned, in interest.

"Drakon," Ollivander corrected. "Technically it is a type of dragon, but more… serpentine than what is widely considered a dragon today. English wizards refer to them as basilisks, but that is more of a title than a species. It literally means 'little king' in Ancient Greek, referring to their title of 'king of serpents' I believe. According to legend, the first drakon was a Son of Ares, the Greek God of War, who protected the Ismene at Thebes."

Ollivander was looking at Helen very intensely now, as if he was trying to convey something vitally important. Helen had no clue what he was trying to get at. It was an interesting legend, sure, but what did it have to do with her? After a moment of awkward silence Ollivander moved on.

"It's incredibly powerful, especially with offensive magic and transfiguration to an extent. I'll warn you now, Miss Potter, that rosewood wands are famous for being temperamental, and drakon wands even more so. This wand has chosen you, but it will not react so agreeably to anyone it finds… unworthy. Do not let your friends borrow your wand if you can help it."

"Yes, Sir," Helen agreed seriously. This warning sounded important, and she would heed it.

"Excellent. That will be seven galleons."

If there were any force in the universe that could trump cryptic mysticism, it would be capitalism. Helen handed over the galleons and left the shop with her new wand in its box.

Waiting outside the shop for her was Hagrid, who was holding something behind his back.

"Ya got yer wand, 'Elen? Good, good. I got ya a surprise. Happy birthday!" he rumbled, pulling a glittering cage out from behind his back. Sitting in the cage was a beautiful, snowy white owl with large amber eyes. Helen was struck speechless.

"Hagrid… This is… Thank you so much!" she squealed. She'd never gotten a birthday present before! Or had a pet! It was overwhelming, the whole day was. This was the greatest thing to ever happen to her, she'd never forget this day. Unfortunately, there was one more conversation they needed to have before heading back to Surrey, and it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Learning the truth about her parent's murder and her own lightning bolt scar, which she usually concealed through clever manipulation of her bangs, was hard. She was enraged that some crazy terrorist had murdered her family in cold blood, tried to _murder her_ , and left her rotting in Dursley hell for _ten years_.  
She was a little angry with the Wizarding World in general for proclaiming her some kind of hero while at the same exact moment abandoning her to the Muggle World. She was also angry that no one would say the guy's name. Why show him the respect? Why let him see their fear? She swore to always use his name to show she wasn't afraid of him. Well, except the 'Lord' part. He was no Lord of hers.

After Helen calmed down, it was time to return to the Dursley residence. She made Hagrid stop at a few stores in muggle London first (after removing her robe), and used some of her converted money to buy girl's clothes that fit her! Three pairs of pants, eight tops, some underclothes and her very first dress later and Helen finally let Hagrid escort her back home. She was deep in thought the whole return trip. She needed to come up with a way to get the Dursleys to drive her to King's Cross Station on September first. Her first instinct was to threaten them with magic. If that didn't work, well, her wand was rather pointy. There had to be a good threat of physical violence in there somewhere.

XXXXXXXXXXX

It turned out to be unnecessary. The Dursleys just wanted to get rid of her at that point, even if it was to magic school. They dropped her off before going to Dudley's appointment to get his tail removed, screeching out of the parking lot with all possible speed. Good riddance.

Helen struggled to find the proper platform as she wandered through Kings Cross in her new dark purple dress. Where the heck would they stash a train to magical school anyway? It couldn't just be out in the open, Lord knows the wizards weren't good at subtlety. This proved very true when she overheard a middle-aged redheaded woman throw out words like 'muggle' and 'platform 9 ¾' right in the middle of the station. Following her and her brood of five ginger children at a discrete distance, Helen learned the entrance to her platform was in a solid looking brick wall. Thanks Hagrid, that would have been nice to know.

Throwing caution to the wind, she ran in right after the last redhead, and was greeted with the sight of a brilliant, red scarlet steam engine. She struggled to get her trunk and owl-whom she had named Hedwig after a witch in her history book- on to the train until a pair of twins from the group she followed in popped over and offered to help. They had the same flaming hair as their mother, a shade darker than the other siblings who must take after their dad. They were completely identical with pert noses, upturned eyebrows, and mischievous smiles a mile wide. Helen knew they'd be trouble. She liked them already.

They introduced themselves as 'Gred and Forge' but had to hurry off to say goodbye to their family, leaving Helen alone in her compartment. She wasn't alone for long on that fateful first trip to Hogwarts though. The twin's younger brother, Ron, ended up joining her. He freaked out a bit when he caught a glimpse of her scar, and he whined quite a bit about his lot in life, but he also answered all her questions without making her feel stupid for being new to their world and reassured her that she'd be able to catch up. She decided she liked him.

They were visited, for a few minutes anyway, by a bushy-haired girl with prominent teeth. She was helping a boy named Neville search for his lost pet, a toad (ew), and stopped by to talk very fast, judge Helen for not being up-to-date on her own legend, and scold Ron for not being able to preform a spell his twin brothers pranked him with. Helen and Ron made the unanimous decision to steer clear of her. Neville himself also stopped by to mumble awkwardly about his toad, blush when looking at her, and then leave. Poor guy didn't have a confident bone in his body. Ron had only given her a brief overview of the four Houses, but she couldn't see Neville getting into Gryffindor any time soon.

The most entertaining visit had to be the reappearance of Draco Malfoy in all his platinum blond glory. He was looking for _the_ 'Helen Potter' but when he discovered she was also Helen-from-the-robe-shop he turned into a stuttering mess. Helen knew that a lot of boys got crushes on her, many just a passing fancy, especially since she's never really returned any of them. There were a special few though, like Draco Malfoy, who got it bad. Part of her, the attention starved locked-in-a-cupboard-alone part, preened under the attention. The rest of her felt pity for the poor boys.

It turned out that Ron's family, the Weasley's, had a long-term blood feud going on with the Malfoys. The two boys immediately started picking at each other. Helen actually thought it was kind of hilarious, and decided to be friends with both boys. She liked them both well-enough, Ron a little more because he wasn't as infatuated with her, and more importantly her decision should set up interesting fights between the two in the future. Did helping perpetuate a generations long cold war between two families make her a bad person? Possibly, she'd rather not think about it.

Before long the train had arrived at their destination: Hogsmeade Station. Hagrid was there, gathering the First Years into boats. Helen shared hers with Ron and twin girls named Parvati and Padma Patil.

The first glimpse of Hogwarts was, and Helen hated herself for thinking this, magical. It was a grand medieval castle presiding over a large lake, with a magical forest in the background, all bathed in moonlight. There was no other word that would fit as well.

The boats took them right into the castle via an ivy-covered cave. There they met a stern witch in emerald robes with a harsh bun that practically screamed 'authoritarian.' She gave them all an abridged version of the Houses, much like Ron had. Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw the studious, Hufflepuff the loyal, and Slytherin the ambitious. If Ron and Hagrid were to be believed, Slytherin was also the House for jerks, future terrorists, and parent murders who orphan little girls and leave them with their awful relatives. Maybe she was taking the description too personally.

After a chance encounter with some ghosts, the First Years were led into the Great Hall and serenaded by a _talking hat_ that was going to _read their minds_. Helen really wasn't okay with this. She didn't want anything reading her mind and she definitely didn't want anything that mangy near her hair. If that hat really belonged to Godric Gryffindor, and had been here for one-thousand-years, than it had sat on thousands of heads! Did they clean it? Who knew! In the end, there wasn't really a choice. She'd just have to wash her hair extra-thoroughly tonight.

She watched as Draco got sent to the budding terrorist House like he wanted, and the chatty Granger girl went to Gryffindor. Ron seemed pretty put out by that. Neville Longbottom was the real surprise in Helen's opinion. How did that quivering pile of human make it into the 'brave' House? Neville was either a deep person with hidden depths yet to be explored, or the thousand-year-old hat was going senile. She would hedge her bets on the second.

Before she knew it, it was Helen's turn to wear the mangy hat and try not to cringe at the lack of hygiene. Whispers had spread like wildfire when her name was called, but she ignored them. The hat was so big it slipped over her eyes, and good Lord, she'd have to scrub her face within an inch of its life!

" _Well, that's not very nice,"_ chimed a disembodied voice _in her head_. This was getting worse by the second.

" _Hmm, let's take a look then, shall we?"_ the hat sounded a little insulted. Helen almost felt bad.

" _Plenty of courage, I see. Confidence as well. You are also of a keen mind, very strategic. You know what you want and plan on how to get it, oh yes. You are willing to use all resources available to you. There is much ambition, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you…"_

"How about Gryffindor," she murmured very quietly so no one but the hat could hear, not really knowing how to think _at_ it. She thought of her new friend Ron who'd probably end up there. She thought of his twin brothers who'd helped her with her trunk. She thought of the parents she'd never met, but Hagrid informed her were Gryffindors. She thought of the battles she fought everyday and how important it was to have courage in the face of all enemies. She even thought of how good she looked in red and gold. Gryffindor seemed like a solid option.

" _Gryffindor? How about Slytherin? You could be great you know. It's all here, in your head, and Slytherin could help you on the way to greatness_."

Helen snorted at that.

"Yeah, like the House at school I'm a part of is going to determine whether I'm great or not. Sorry, Hat, but if I'm going to be great, it'll be purely my own doing. Not because of who I shared a dorm with," Helen proclaimed resolutely, although still quietly. Her Sorting must be taking a long time, because people were starting to whisper amongst themselves. "If it makes you feel better, wouldn't the most Slytherin thing of all be to not go to Slytherin? No one will suspect the Gryffindor." The hat chuckled in her head, which was a weird sensation.

" _Well said, Helen Potter, well said. If you're sure, better be_ … Gryffindor!" the hat shouted aloud at the end, and Helen practically ripped the thing off. Mind reading: not cool.

The red and gold table exploded into applause. The Weasley twins were singing 'We got Potter! We got Potter!' with glee and other Gryffindor's were giving each other high fives. Helen didn't understand what the big deal was. For all they knew, she'd be a shame on their noble House. Or maybe she'd be a credit. She hadn't quite decided yet. She went to go sit down, and ended up between newly minted Gryffindor Seamus Finnigan and Percy Weasley- another of Ron's brothers and a Prefect. Ron sat across from her when he joined the Weasley family tradition of getting into Gryffindor.

The Feast was wonderful in some ways, odd in others. She'd never seen so much food in a single place, let alone be allowed to eat it. The desserts had been even better, and she knew she'd have to watch herself or she'd get chunky quickly. What was odd, though, was the Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked like some sort of Gandalf impersonator that got kicked out of comic-con, but with worse taste in robes. Hagrid swore he was one of the greatest men alive (she opted not to trust Hagrid's judgment on this if only because he was actually one of the greatest men alive and couldn't possibly be impartial about such things) but after Dumbledoe's warning about the Death Corridor as it shall hence forth be referred to, she wondered if he was as senile as the hat.

When the Welcoming Feast was finished, the new Gryffindors were led up many sets of stairs to the painting (and astoundingly the paintings moved and talked!) of a large woman appropriately called the Fat Lady. Helen thought it must have taken serious self-esteem to let that be her moniker, she very much respected that painting. Beyond the Fat Lady was a cozy Common Room decorated in shades of crimson, with a large fireplace, and some truly comfortable looking furniture. From the Common room there were two doors that led up to the boy's and girl's dorms.

Helen shared her dorm with three other girls: Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Hermione Granger. It became quickly apparent there was a bit of a disconnection between Hermione and the rest of them. Although she'd never had too much of a chance before Hogwarts, Helen loved joining Lavender and Parvati in what Hermione labeled 'frivolous nonsense.' They painted their nails together, braided each other's hair, and perused Lavender's truly impressive collection of fashion magazines. Sure, Lavender and Parvati giggled and gossiped more than Helen liked, but their shared interests overpowered Helen's occasional desire to tape their mouths shut. It also bummed Helen a bit to know that, although they were all friends, Lavender and Parvati were _best friends_ , and it would occasionally make Helen feel like a bit of a third wheel.

Hermione, by contrast, liked to read. A lot. It certainly wasn't doing the girl a lot of social favors. By the time they were a month into school, Hermione had zero friends and the loneliness seemed to push her further into the library's embrace.

Helen was doing pretty well socially. Her and Ron were pretty close, and often partnered together in class. She was warm acquaintances with the other boys in her year as well. Neville was shy but unfailingly nice, Seamus was hilarious-usually without trying and often blew things up in the wackiest ways when doing magic, and Dean and her connected over their muggle up-bringing and what it was like to live in a new world. Helen wanted to connect with Hermione over that, but Hermione was busy. Reading.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Helen liked her classes well enough. Charms was a little theory heavy at the beginning, but it was getting steadily more exciting. Transfiguration was probably her favorite class at the moment. It came naturally to her, and she was usually able to take the assignments a step further with strong visualization. She was the first in her class to turn a match into a needle (followed closely by Hermione), but then she took it a step further by changing the eye of the needle so it was heart-shaped instead of a simple oval.

Professor McGonagall was delighted, or as delighted as the stern teacher ever managed to get, and awarded her five points. After class, she'd held Helen back to mention that her father, James Potter, had been a bit of a transfiguration prodigy and that he'd be very proud of her talent. Helen had practically glowed at the new information and praise.

Astronomy was rather interesting to Helen, especially the myths and legends behind certain constellations. History was boring and ran havoc on her ADHD. She could barely stay awake during her ghost professor's drone, let alone pay actual attention. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a joke. Quirrell seemed terrified of his own subject and his students. She'd heard rumors that the job was cursed and the professors often met sticky ends. Maybe that's what he's so terrified of. Either way she had constant headaches in his class.

Helen didn't like Herbology at all. It included getting dirt under her nails, wearing an ugly smock, and gardening- which was one of her least favorite Dursley enforced chores. What was there to like?

Potions was in a class of it's own. Helen was thoroughly convinced that Professor Snape, an unfortunate looking man with sallow skin, greasy black hair and a prominent nose, was bipolar and needed professional help. Sometimes he seemed to hate her, and would mock her work while taking points left, right, and center. Sometimes he was helpful and almost nice, like she was a Slytherin student. Most often, though, he just ignored her. Helen preferred this. Jerk Snape made her want to bash his head in with a cauldron and nice Snape made her want to run and hide. She did notice that no matter what mood he was in, he avoided looking her directly in the eye. Helen took this as a personal challenge, and the Battle for Eye Contact commenced every lesson. It was not a battle she was winning.

Eventually, Helen had to go to McGonagall and tell her about her dyslexia. She wasn't struggling too badly with the readings if she had enough time to work through them slowly, and she could listen intently enough in lectures to do the practicals in lessons. Ron was always willing to whisper instructions in her ear during Potions if deciphering them out of the text was taking too long after she'd confided in him. Ron had mentioned that the twins had a similar issue, although wizards didn't have a word for it, and promised not to tell anyone.

Truly, the only reason she even bothered to inform McGonagall at all was that their first round of essays was due and she knew her spelling was going to leave much to be desired. McGonagall hadn't pitied Helen a bit, much to her relief, and instead taught her a spelling correction charm. She'd warned Helen that she'd have to make a special request at the Ministry to use it for her OWLs, because it was otherwise against the rules to charm the exams in any way. Helen thanked her profusely.

The real highlight of all her lessons had to be flying though. She'd been a little nervous, considering everyone else seemed to have been flying all over the place their entire lives. Hermione and Neville were far worse, though. Hermione had stuck her head in _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and splattered them all with random facts against their will to try and prep for the lessons. Neville had simply suffered in silence, looking pale and terrified when they walked out on the grassy pitch in two lines.

It turns out that Neville was right to be nervous, considering he accidently flew twenty feet in the air, panicked, fell and broke his wrist. Madam Hooch, the instructor, told them to keep their feet planted firmly on the ground and then left twenty eleven-year-olds with magical flying brooms as if _that_ was going to work out in anyone's favor. Well, it did for Helen, but that was beside the point.

"Well, look what we have here," Draco stated triumphantly, a glass globe filled with white smoke clutched in his fist. "Longbottom's lost his remembrall."

"Hand it over, Malfoy," Ron demanded, hand outstretched. Oh goody, feud time!

"I don't think so, Weasley. Perhaps I'll leave it someplace for the stupid oaf to find. Maybe up a tree?" Draco sneered, obviously grandstanding for the Slytherins who were snickering quite meanly. Helen knew she had two options. Intervene and possibly gain enemies, or abide by bullying on poor defenseless Neville. It really wasn't much of a choice

Draco hopped onto the school broom and glided gracefully into the air, all the while taunting Ron to come and get him. Ron was hesitating horribly, probably thinking of Hooch's expulsion threat. Helen rolled her eyes; as if they'd expel you over a little extra-curricular flying. So much for Gryffindor bravery. Helen hopped on her own broom, prayed she wasn't about to make a total fool of herself, and followed Draco up.

As soon as her feet left the ground, Helen knew flying was something she would love doing for the rest of her life. The wind flowing against her face, the freedom, the weightlessness, the control; it was all wonderful and came completely natural to her. She leveled up with Draco easily, and gave a pointed look at the remembrall.

"I really don't want to have a fight, Draco. Please hand the remembrall over," she asked, with little inflection.

"Why do you care?" he asked, trying to buy more time. Helen remained unyielding.

"Because it's bullying and you know it. I'm not saying you have to be buddy-buddy with the guy, just don't steal his stuff."

Draco looked conflicted for a moment before his face seemed to shudder down in resolution. Oh dear, it seemed he was about to do something stupid.

"If he was a proper wizard, he would have been able to hover on a broom. If you're a proper witch, than you should be able to catch this." And then he'd lobbed the orb high and far because boys are stupid and he didn't want to lose face in front of his Slytherin friends in what Helen was understanding to be some sort of power play she'd interrupted. Helen had enough time to sneer at the blonde before she lay vertically on the broom and took off after the remembrall. One thirty-foot dive later and she was the new Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Draco tried to apologize and explain himself but she shut him down. Sure, she'd probably forgive him eventually (when it was convenient for her) but now was not the time. Quidditch practice started to dominate Helen's schedule. Helen grew pretty close to Ron's brothers, Fred and George, with all the intense practice- as they were on the team as Beaters. She was almost able to tell them apart now. She knew one had a dark freckle above their left eyebrow that the other didn't. Now she just needed to attach the proper name to that freckle. If they'd stop switching names back and forth for a few days it would help her efforts.

XXXXXXXXXX

Before she knew it, Charms class on October 31st had arrived and they had the Halloween Feast that night. They were preforming the Levitation Charm on feathers, and Helen opted to partner with Seamus Finnigan in the hope of seeing his feather explode- she was not disappointed. Him blowing off his eyebrow was just an added bonus.

Unfortunately, that left Ron to Hermione Granger's tender mercies. She showed him up, he insulted her, she ran away crying, and now Ron and Helen were running through the school with a troll on the loose because Ron was insensitive and Hermione was over-emotional. Helen had snagged a steak knife off the dinner table for the sake of this rescue mission, and she was palming it nervously. They finally found the bathroom Hermione had locked herself in, while said ten-foot troll was visiting her.

Hermione was screaming her lungs out and hiding under a sink while the troll swung a giant club with intent to smash. Helen wouldn't really be able to recall what came over her in that moment. One second she was staring at the ugly behemoth and trying not to inhale it's putrid odor, and the next everything in her snapped like a rubber band. Her ADHD went haywire and everything began to slow down. Adrenaline flooded her body and she was overcome with a visceral need to _end this threat before it ended her_. Before she could over think it, Helen threw herself at the troll with a loud war cry, stabbing the ugly beast in the thigh.

The troll roared in pain and tried to kick her, but Helen rolled out of the way. She could vaguely hear Ron yelling at her to stop and Hermione yelling in general, but she paid it no mind. She had an enemy to destroy.

The troll tried to kick her again but she dodged while slashing at its foot. It raised its club for a swing, but Helen stepped handily to the side. This was almost too easy. Still, she had yet to figure out how to actually bring the beast down. Her slashes were superficial at best, and dodging only worked until the dumb brute tried to take a swing at Hermione again. The bookworm was frozen in terror, still under the sink.

Helen dodged another kick, but this time it gave her an idea. She circled around its legs and slashed at its ankle, hoping it was a weak point on trolls like it was in humans. She was half right. The troll roared in surprised pain and dropped its club in shock. It didn't go down though. Instead it began to try and grab her furiously, probably hoping to crush her in its meaty fists.

Hermione was lecturing Ron about the finer points of the Levitation Charm and Helen really wanted to know what he planned on levitating because it _better not be her_. She'd seen his feather, and she was not going to die at the hands of Ronald Weasley trying to do a Levitation Charm. It turns out he was levitating the troll's fallen club, which was surprisingly brilliant of him, and he let it go just above the trolls head, knocking it out. Helen wasn't going to let it go at that, though. Every instinct was telling her to make sure her opponent couldn't get back up, and that's exactly what she planned to do.

"Is it… dead?" Hermione asked, finally crawling out from under the sink.

"Just knocked out, I think," Ron replied, eyeing the troll wearily.

"Not for long," Helen declared as she stalked over to the dumb brutes head. She clutched her steak knife in a firm grip before bringing it down in a harsh stab right through one of it's closed eyes and into its brain. Dark blood seeped out from the socket. Hermione let out a short scream and Ron gaped in shock at her actions while the beast gave an all-mighty twitch before lying still. Helen left the knife where it was poking out of the troll's skull.

"Helen, why would you… what…" Hermione stammered. Helen gave her an unimpressed look.

"We couldn't let it get back up, it was a danger to the school," Helen said resolutely. Hermione seemed to hesitate for a moment before nodding. Ron's mouth was hanging open.

"Bloody hell, Helen. That was brilliant!" Ron shouted, still looking gob smacked. "Where did you learn to do all that?"

Helen shrugged, not sure how to answer. She hadn't learned, she'd just… known. It was instinctual. Helen didn't want to talk about it.

The professors chose that completely useless moment to storm in wands blazing. Professors McGonagall, Quirrell, and Snape took in Hermione's slightly fabricated story, and McGonagall ended up awarding them points for 'sheer dumb luck.' Helen wanted to scoff. That wasn't luck; that was pure talent.

Helen noticed the way they eyed the knife sticking out of the troll uneasily, but she was unrepentant. Would they have been so worried if she'd slashed it with a spell? There comes a time when all the professors have to realize that they live in a school full of immature children carrying deadly weapons in the form of wands and get over it. Wizards were perpetually armed. Such was life. Does using a knife actually make a difference?

After the troll incident, it was unanimously decided that the three of them would henceforth be best friends. There were just some things you couldn't go through together without bonding, and killing a mountain troll was one of them.

XXXXXXXXXX

The weeks blended together again after that, nothing really sticking out until her very first Quidditch game against Slytherin. The team captain, Oliver, was a total fanatic, and wanted to win more than anything. Helen wanted to win too, but mostly for the sake of victory in general and proving that she deserved her spot despite being a First Year.

The broom McGonagall had sent her worked like a dream, and she whipped around the field as cool wind blew through her braided hair, searching for the Snitch. There was a small detour where her broom was jinxed into bucking her off to her early demise, but as soon as it was back under her control she made a beeline for the Snitch, snatching it out of the air with her quick reflexes. Gryffindor won and the after party was awesome. Food and drink was supplied by the Weasley twins via the kitchens, and all the students partied late into the night until McGonagall showed up to kill the mood and send them to bed.

Ron and Hermione both insisted the one who tried to kill her was Snape. Helen wasn't so sure. Maybe he was in one of his 'I-hate-Helen' moods, but that still seemed kind of extreme. She supposed she'd have to look into it.

She also had to look into a little side-project of Hermione's. They'd accidently stumbled into the Death Corridor one afternoon, and ever since Hermione was determined to figure out what the three-headed-dog was guarding. Helen was dragged into scouring for information with her but she didn't think she was helping much, considering the dyslexia made sifting through old tomes incredibly difficult. Their starting point was Nicolas Flamel thanks to the ever-lovable and loose-lipped Hagrid. Other than that, they didn't have much.

XXXXXXXXXX

The days grew shorter and colder and Christmas break had arrived. The Weasley's were staying because their parents were off to visit one of their older siblings in Romania, but Hermione, Lavander, Parvati, and the rest of the boys were headed home. She'd have the dorm all to herself.

Christmas break turned out to be one long line of over-eating, snowball fights with the Weasley's, and chilling in the Common Room. She'd gotten presents for the first time ever, including a lovely sweater from the Weasley matriarch, a whittled flute from Hagrid, and a nail servicing kit from Lavender and Parvati. She'd even received a delicate glass figurine of a broom from Draco.

She'd distributed gifts as well, mostly generic things like candy and trinkets (and a book for Hermione of course) from owl order ads. Draco's gift had been a small note with the words 'I forgive you' scrawled across, as well as one of her transfigured needles- this one fashioned to look like a snake with the tail for the pointed end and the eye being made by the head curling around to touch the body. She thought he'd appreciate the snake motif.

The stand out present of the year was definitely the Invisibility Cloak. Apparently it had once belonged to her father, which made it even more valuable in her eyes. The note attached hadn't been signed, but Helen appreciated the person who returned her family's Cloak, whoever they were. Her first order of business with the Cloak was to go exploring, and it was on one of those little exploring trips that she found the Mirror of Erised.  
She had looked into it, and was entranced by what she saw. On either side of her stood a man and a woman. The woman had fiery red hair and emerald green eyes, the exact same shade as hers. The man had messy dark hair, glasses, and a big smile on his face. Helen thought she could see some resemblance with him too. She also had dark hair-darker than his really- and she thought their facial structure was pretty similar. Where these her… parents?

As she stared more intently, two more figures where shimmering into existence: a scarred, handsome man with an oiled crew cut of night black hair (the same color as hers), wrap-around sunglasses, and a leather jacket and a woman beautiful beyond imagining who cycled through different hair and eye colors rapidly. Who were they?

Then things got stranger. More people started to appear in the background of the mirror, less prominent then the original four but still visible. There were some people who looked like the messy haired man and some that looked like the red-haired woman. These were the relatively normal additions that Helen supposed must be extended family. The rest were nut jobs.

Three imposing, dark-haired men were arguing while holding a trident, a Greek helmet, and what looked like a staff of pure electricity. Two women looked at them with exasperation, one with hair the color of wheat and the other the very definition of regal. There was a blonde teenager using a pair of white headphones to listen to music with a sunny smile. There was a girl about Helen's age with moonshine eyes in a silver parka next to a no-nonsense woman with grey eyes and a red-haired eight-year-old. There was a man with a leg brace and thick beard that had flames dancing through it and there was a curly-haired man with a mischievous look about him who was typing away on a cellphone and flying around with winged shoes.

Helen drew the line at flying shoes. She bundled herself up into her Invisibility Cloak and marched from the room. If that mirror wanted to toy with her by acting like it would reveal her family and then make up wacky strangers, she wouldn't go along with it.

XXXXXXXXXX

The second semester commenced cold and dreary. The homework load was steadily mounting and Helen was struggling a bit with all the reading, but she would not be defeated by floating letters. She ended up staying up later than most working on homework, but it was a worthy sacrifice if it meant not losing to her dyslexia. At least the spelling in all of her essays was impeccable.

The new semester also introduced Helen to a major bad habit of Hagrid's- namely, raising dangerous creatures in inappropriate places. Helen wouldn't say it to Hagrid, but she hated Norbert. He (who they would eventually discover was a she) made her skin crawl, like he was about to try and rip her face off. She was really relieved when they handed him off to Charlie Weasley's friends. The whole operation was actually a close call, considering Draco had figured out that Hagrid had a dragon and was going to rat on him until Helen intervened. She knew forgiving him was a good idea, it made him much more agreeable.

Between intense over-studying for the impending final exams, Hermione was still determined to figure out the secrets of the Death Corridor. Surprisingly, it was Ron who secured them their next clue, finding out that Nicolas Flamel was an alchemist off of Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog Card. It wasn't long before Hermione whipped out a huge tome that listed some of Flamel's accomplishments, and it was only a small jump in logic to determine that their mystery prize was the famed Philosopher's Stone.

That would have been the end of that if Ron and Hermione weren't convinced Professor Snape was trying to steal it. Helen could concede that _someone_ was probably trying to steal it by the simple fact that it was incredibly valuable and being guarded by _a freaking Cerberus_! She just wasn't sure it was Snape, who was sometimes nice to her and was still winning their Battle for Eye Contact (not for long, she was a devising a new strategy).

Hermione did have some convincing arguments though; including Helen's near fatal first Quidditch match, a leg injury on the night of the troll break-in that she hadn't noticed and an intimidation campaign against Quirrell that Helen had overheard one night while scurrying around under her Cloak.

Still, none of their postulating really mattered as long as Dumbledore was around. Helen may doubt his status as one of the greatest men living, but the strategist in her could recognize that he had a powerful reputation: certainly strong enough to scare off potential thieves.

Finals had just ended (Helen had scored top in their class for Transfiguration, much to Hermione's discomfiture) when Dumbledore chucked the only thing he had going for him out the window: his presence. He had flown off to the Ministry for some bureaucracy demand or another, and now it was prime time for any potential Stone stealers. Hermione was in a tizzy, so they sought counsel with McGonagall, who did about what Helen expected her to as a rational adult and told them to stay out of it. Knowing they'd have to get proactive, Helen led her friends to her favorite source of information: Hagrid. A few carefully chosen phrases later and they were ready to get passed Fluffy (Hagrid had immense talent for understatement when naming things).

That night they headed out for the Death Corridor after subduing a well-meaning Neville (and there was that Longbottom courage she was starting to doubt existed). Helen played her flute to lull Fluffy to sleep, and then they descended into the trapdoor, fell a lot further than Helen was comfortable with, and then landed on a springy pile of plant. That plant happened to be Devil's Snare, which immediately started trying to strangle them. Hermione kept telling Helen to relax so the plant wouldn't try as hard to kill her but Helen was _not going to relax when she was under attack_! Luckily, judicious use of a fire spell made the plant back off but not before reminding Helen why Herbology was one of her least favorite classes.

They found themselves in a room with flying keys, which Helen found to be more of a game than a challenge. She snatched up the oldest one with a crooked wing, and they were through the door and onto a chessboard. Helen let Ron lead this leg. Helen was actually rather good at chess, tactical decision-making came naturally to her, but she didn't play nearly as often as Ron did. She'd let his experience win out here. It did, but at the cost of Ron nearly getting his head knocked off. The temptation to retreat and help Ron was strong, but he did not sacrifice himself so they could back down like wimps and make him getting thrashed pointless. They forged ahead.

The next room smelled disgusting and held a very dead troll. It seemed their thief was had been through and he or she knew how to properly handle a mountain troll. They continued, and found themselves trapped between two walls of flame with a clever little riddle for company. Hermione figured it out, but when it became clear that only one of them was going to be able to move ahead, Helen knew it had to be her. She sent Hermione back to help Ron and get a teacher, gulped down a potion that made her insides feel frozen, and stepped through the flames.

If Helen was being completely honest, she really wasn't expecting it to be Quirrell. Sure, she never liked the guy and she wasn't sold on Snape being the thief, but she had been banking on some sort of outside actor, not her pitiful pile of a Defense Professor.

"Surprised to see me, Potter?" he sneered, stutter free.

"Well yeah, kinda," she responded truthfully, rubbing at her scar. A headache was flaring up hard and fast.

"Of course, who would expect po-poor stu-stu-stuttering Professor Quirrell. I assume you thought it would be Snape? He was oh so helpful as a distraction, swooping around like an overgrown bat."

"Nah, I didn't think it was Snape. Does this mean you're the one who tried to kill me at my first Quidditch match?" she asked, stalling for time. She was really starting to wish she'd thought through this confrontation a little more before hand. All she was armed with her wand and a repertoire of First Year spells. She really wished she had a steak knife right about then.

"Very good, Potter. Beauty and brains; I'm sure your mudblood mother would have been so proud," he mocked. That brought a sneer to Helen's face.

"Someone in this room has to have them, and we all know it wasn't going to be you," she drawled, palming her wand.

"Be quiet, Potter. I have work to do," he commanded dismissively before turning to gaze intently into what Helen had just realized was the Mirror of Erised. Helen was pretty insulted. Did he think she was such a non-threat that he could turn his back on her in the middle of their confrontation and ignore her? Heck no. She had raised her wand to do…something… when a disturbing, high-pitched voice spoke from nowhere.

"Use the girl," it hissed. Helen did not like where this was going. Quirrell turned back around to face her.

"Come here, Potter!" he shouted. A wave of his wand later and Helen was rocketing into his punishing grip on her shirt-clad arm and forced to look into the Mirror again. The picture was about the same, the man and the woman she thought were her parents, the other couple who frankly confused her, and all the wacky strangers in the background. The only difference was that Mirror-Helen lifted her pointer-finger to her lips in the universal 'hush' gesture before dropping a blood red stone into her pocket. Helen felt a heavy weight appear in her real pocket a moment later.

"What do you see?" Quirrell demanded. Helen sneered at him.

"I see myself punching you in your stupid face," she heckled. Quirrell backhanded her for the cheek. Helen spat at him.

"She lies, let me speak to her," the disembodied voice demanded.

"Master, you are not strong enough," Quireell replied nervously. Master?

"I have strength enough for this," he replied. Quirrell shoved Helen away from him roughly, making her stagger. She brought her wand up to bear again, still not entirely sure what she was about to do with it. Quirrell's hand snaked up to his ever-present turban, and he began to unravel it. Helen found this to be a completely inappropriate time to regret his abominable fashion choices. Once it was fully removed, Quirrell turned so the back of his head was facing Helen, and she almost puked.

On the back of Quirrell's skull was a truly hideous face. It had squinted red eyes, a flat nose, was a horrid chalk color, and was rotting at the edges like a skin graft gone horribly wrong. The pain in Helen's scar exploded in agony but she ignored it.

"See what I've become, Helen Potter? This is your doing. I must live off the sacrifice of others, like loyal Quirrell here. He's been helping to sustain me with unicorn blood these past weeks, but I need a body of my own, one that can be provided by the Philosopher's Stone. Hand it over. Join me, and you can learn magic beyond your wildest dreams, far beyond what they teach at this poor excuse for a school. Join me, and we can bring your parents back. All you have to do is hand me the Stone."

It took Helen a minute to understand whom she was talking to, he seemed to assume she'd know, but when she did she was beyond angry. Who would blame her for leaving him bodiless? Who had legions of followers to call him 'Master?' Voldemort! Wasn't he supposed to be dead? She'd figure that part out later. Hagrid had mentioned that he might not have been as dead as everyone assumed. Right now all she wanted was vengeance for her dead parents and screwed up childhood. She wanted to see him hurt.

"Like hell I will!" she shouted, absolutely infuriated.

"Then prepare to die, Potter!" he hissed, dropping his little recruitment tirade. Good, she didn't want to hear it. Quirrell turned around to face her and lifted his wand.

"Avada-"

But it was useless, because Helen was already in motion. She threw her slight body at Quirrell with all the force she could muster, fully intending to shove her wand through his eye, just like the troll. She was beyond rationality. The thought that this would be legitimate murder of another human being didn't cross her mind. This wasn't cold-blooded killing; it was war. War meant death to the losing side and she was going to win.

They both hit the ground hard with Quirrell's wand sent flying from the force. She had a moment of visceral joy where she realized that Voldemort's parasite face just got a mouthful of hard stone when the back of Quirrell's head hit the pavement. Her hands reached for his throat. She knew strength wise she was no threat to a full-grown man, but the element of surprise had gotten her this far. She might as well keep going before he got his bearings back and shoved her off.

As soon as her skin made contact with his, Helen realized something strange was happening. His flesh was smoldering where it contacted with hers. He started shrieking in pain, and that just encouraged Helen to hold on tighter. The contact was causing her skull to absolutely pound but she wouldn't release him. He was going to kill her. She had limited mercy for Voldemort's puppet and none for Voldemort. Before long the burning spread beyond the points of contact. It was like he was crumbling under her touch. Twenty seconds more of screaming and Quirrell was nothing but a pile of dust. Helen stared at her hands in shock as she scrambled out of the dust pile. How had she done that?

Helen didn't have a lot of time to contemplate Quirrell's surprising demise, however, because the spirit of Voldemort chose that moment to rise from his former host and fly right through her, knocking her out cold.

XXXXXXXXX

She woke up three days later to a smiling Dumbledore, a pile of letters and gifts, and a vicious headache. Her and Dumbledore had a lovely conversation about such topics as her mother lending her protection through her death, the power of love (which Helen wasn't ashamed to admit she found a totally legitimate power), Voldemort not being dead and continuously trying to rise back to power, the purpose of the Mirror of Erised, everyone knowing what happened in the Death Corridor, Ron and Hermione being relatively unharmed, and the Stone being destroyed. Helen got a little angry at that point.

"Are you trying to tell me that this whole year spent setting up protections and my fight with Voldemort was pointless because the Stone was _just going to be destroyed anyway_? This course of action didn't occur to anyone nine months ago? Now it's an acceptable option?"

Dumbledore looked pretty sheepish after that. Good. Hermione was right, wizards completely lacked logic.

That evening was supposed to be the final Quidditch match of the season against Ravenclaw for the Quidditch Cup. Technically, Helen wasn't supposed to leave the Hospital Wing but technically, she didn't care. She snuck down to the pitch ten minutes before the match was set to start, much to the team's joy. She rose on her broom quickly, feeling dizzy and weak but determined to win at all costs. She caught the Snitch in twenty minutes, ten of which included Madam Pomfrey yelling at her from the ground and demanding that Madam Hooch stop the match. She landed to a roar of approval from the Gryffindor stands, and then promptly passed out. It was totally worth it.

Her body was carried back to the Hospital Wing on the shoulders of her Housemates, and that was the day Oliver Wood declared his unwavering devotion to her.

Gryffindor won the House Cup handily that year thanks to the Quidditch victory (which earns points) and Helen, Ron, and Hermione's adventure in the Death Corridor. Even Neville won points for trying to stop a rescue mission and validating the Hat's decision to place him in Gryffindor (that may not have been the official reason). The Feast was delicious and Helen was borderline depressed that she was heading back to the Dursley's, where food was scarce and people enjoying her company scarcer.

As she got on the train to head back to her living nightmare, Hagrid stopped her. He reaffirmed her belief that he is one of the greatest people alive by giving her a photo album filled with pictures of her parents. She was right, the redheaded woman and man with glasses from the Mirror of Erised were her parents. She gave him a big hug before slipping into a compartment with Ron and Hermione, wondering what next year would have in store for her.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Look, I know no one enjoys a rehash of canon events. It gets boring. I thought about leaving these chapters out completely, but I couldn't do it, they are necessary to delve deeper into the characters of the Magical World, and to make sure everything is straight and established for future chapters. While most of the actions are relatively the same, the motivations and relationships are different because Helen is fundamentally different. For example, even though Helen is still best friends with Ron and Hermione, she's less desperate for friends than Harry was (because of her acquaintances and popularity in primary school) and more arrogant in general because of her divine heritage so she sees faults in them more easily and is rather condescending at times. Still, I didn't want to linger overly long on this stuff, so years one, two, and three are all one chapter each and the summer after third year is when things start to get exciting._

 _Helens wand is rosewood for Aphrodite, as one of Aphrodite's most notable sacred plants is the rose (technically rosewood isn't from rose bushes but is actually from tropical trees in the pea plant family, they call it rosewood because it smells like blooming roses when cut and has a reddish tint to it). The core is for Ares, who has a legend like Ollivander describes about his son being a drakon (which is a type of dragon) that protected Thebes. Basiliskos is the word basilisk comes from, and it is Greek for 'little king.' I took some creative license, however, when I made basilisks and drakons the same creature._

 _On another note, I made Helen a Transfiguration prodigy for two reasons. The first is that I wanted her to have that connection with James Potter, just as a reminder that she's still a Potter despite her complicated heritage. I also thought that it made sense for a Daughter of Aphrodite to be talented at changing the appearance of things. She'll also be handy with Glamour Charms when the story gets that far into her magical education for the same reasons._

 _Just hang on everyone, I promise we'll be getting to Camp Half-Blood soon. Until then, perhaps enjoy a few plot adjustments. If you thought Ginny's obsession with Harry in canon was bad, you should see how it's going to play out next chapter…_

 _As a final note to this extremely long author's note, thank you so much everyone who has read this story so far. The feedback from the first chapter was overwhelming and I can't thank you all enough._


	3. Snakes, Stalkers and Swords

After a year at magic school where she got to fly a broomstick, cast magic spells, and brew potions, life at the Dursleys was even more intolerable than it used to be. Sure, the threat of vindictive magic kept Helen's relatives in line for the most part, or at least away from her, but the isolation from the Magical World was taking it's toll. She hadn't received a single letter from any of her school friends, not even Ron or Hermione. She was torn between being angry with them all or self-deprecatingly upset. Did she do something that made them not want to talk to her?

She compensated by reaching out to some of her acquaintances from primary school. It was important that she reaffirmed those bonds if she wanted to keep a step ahead of Vernon and Petunia's never ending campaign against her in the neighborhood. They'd even tried to spread a rumor that she was off at some security facility for degenerate youth!

Luckily, between Helen's shining reputation and the work she'd put in to discrediting the Dursleys over the years; no one believed them. Honestly, the neighborhood was starting to consider the Dursleys a stain on their perfectly mediocre, cookie-cutter community. Helen thought it was hilarious and couldn't wait until the Dursleys found out. She'd pay good galleons to see their reaction.

Suffice to say, Helen had to give her own adjusted truth of where'd she been. She told them that she was at a boarding school in Scotland (true) named St. Anthony's (less true). St. Anthony's was actually the official false face of Hogwarts that muggleborns were advised to share with distant relatives and friends. It even had a mailing address where muggle letters could be addressed, and then tied to owls and delivered like regular (for wizards) mail at Hogwarts itself. Helen had learned about it from Hermione and Dean, as Hagrid had forgotten to tell her.

The Dursleys were furious that she was contradicting their story and making them look foolish and herself talented, but there was little they could do. Whenever they'd start in on her like they did before she got her letter, she'd simply flash them a peek of her wand, and their anger would be reluctantly quelled. Sure she wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school, but the Dursley's didn't know that.

They continued in that vein of forced civility until Vernon's boss and his wife were set to come over for dinner. She'd been shoved into her room with demands to be quiet and keep Hedwig quiet as well, and then left to her own devices while the Dursleys were downstairs pretending to be good, well-put-together people and not walking spite factories. Everything was going according to plan until the letter stealing house-elf named Dobby had shown up with dire warnings about returning to school. The bloody menace had used a Hovering Charm on the Dursley's dessert pudding and dumped it on their guest's heads.

Not only did she get in legal trouble for the charm, but she also got in major Dursley trouble as they discovered she wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school. Her trunk was locked up in the cupboard under the stairs and she was locked up in her bedroom. They'd even put a cat flap on her door so she wouldn't come out for meals and bars on her window- as if that was going to make the neighborhood think they weren't crazy.

She was being relegated to one cold can of soup a day that she had to share with Hedwig, and it was beginning to show. She was tired and listless and her already meager fat reserves were melting off her. She was actually starting to get legitimately worried for her health. One more day of this nonsense and she was going to scream and make a fuss at her barred window until someone called the police. Locking her up like this was inhumane and disgusting and the only reason she hadn't brought attention to it already was because she was in possession of magical objects that probably wouldn't go over well with the muggle authorities should they find them.

Luckily it didn't get that far due to the timely arrival of her knights with ginger hair astride their flying car. Ron, Fred and George helped her stage a spectacular breakout that included ripping the bars off the window, intense non-magical lock picking via George Weasley (which it turned out was the one with the telltale freckle) and her uncle falling out the second story window while trying to prevent her from leaving.

They'd driven all night to Ottery St Catchpole, which was the location of the most lived in house Helen had ever laid eyes on: the Burrow. They tiptoed in only to be caught by Mrs. Weasley. The boys had been scolded within an inch of their lives, but Helen had been welcomed warmly with a hot breakfast and several comments about how skinny she was.

Helen loved the time she spent at the Burrow. The house was positively dripping in familial love, and it made her feel warm and fuzzy on the inside if she thought about it too much. The whole family had been warm and inviting for the most part (Percy spent a lot of time in his room but was still perfectly cordial) and she got to whittle hours away playing Quidditch, helping with a few household chores, finishing her summer homework, gaining some weight back under Mrs. Weasley's watchful eye, explaining muggle things to Mr. Weasley and even helping the twins a bit with their pranking. The only thing that made her feel a bit uncomfortable was Ginny Weasley.

Due to Helen and her both being young pre-teen girls, they shared Ginny's room and the awkward air was thick. As it turns out, Ginny was a _big_ Helen Potter fan. Or at least, she was a big fan of the stories that she'd heard all her life about Helen Potter. She was also incredibly shy. Every time Helen would go to talk to her she'd turn bright red and rush out of the room. It got tiresome after awhile. She was used to a little stuttering and babbling, mostly from boys, but she'd never encountered someone who couldn't be in the same room as her because of it. Ginny made Helen's first meeting with Draco Malfoy seem articulate. Next time she stayed at the Weasley's she was going to finagle a way to stay with Ron or the twins. Heck, maybe even Percy.

Her glorious summer weeks with the Weasley's were capped off by the arrival of school owls, and a necessary trip to Diagon Alley where they were to meet up with Hermione. Helen ended up taking a tiny little detour to Knockturn Alley by way of a Floo Network mishap, and overheard some interesting haggling between Lucious Malfoy- Draco's dad- and the slimiest shopkeeper she'd ever seen. After sneaking out of the creepy curio store, she was rescued by Hagrid of all people and escorted to Diagon. Good ol' Hagrid, always there when you need him.

After meeting up with the rest of the Weasleys and the freshly arrived Hermione who were all freaking out about her disappearance, the group made their way to Flourish and Blotts- Hermione's favorite store naturally- where a book signing was occurring for the author of half the book list.

His name was Gilderoy Lockhart, and Helen knew he was a fraud the first time she laid eyes on him. Primped and polished to the point of being so artificial it was unattractive, Lockhart shot smiles at every woman he saw and the cameras twice as much. Helen knew without knowing how that Lockhart would never love someone as much as he loved himself and that was just sad. Or at least, she felt sad for him until he spotted her and forcefully pulled her on stage with him. All pity for the empty places in Lockhart's heart flew out the window.

"As I live and breath; Helen Potter! Smile big for the camera, together you and I have a shot at the front page," he exclaimed while trying to pull her to his side. She side stepped deftly, sent the camera a charming smile when she knew Lockhart was out of the frame, and then stepped off the stage with feigned humility.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," she denied him, stepping closer to the safety of the Weasley's who were now shooting Lockhart poisonous glares for his presumptions. Well, the male ones were. Mrs. Weasley, Ginny and especially Hermione still seemed quite taken with him.

"Ah, I see, she's shy everyone," Lockhart recovered, laughing good-naturedly along with the crowd. Helen fought back a scowl, she was a lot of things, but shy was not one of them, not in any capacity.

Lockhart proceeded to announce that he was to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Helen hoped the curse worked fast this year, she didn't want a touchy, vainglorious fool like him floating around all the time. The uproar from the announcement had gotten Helen shuffled away from the Weasley's once more.

"Helen, are you okay? That fool has a lot of nerve dragging you around like that," came the cultured voice of the newly arrived Draco Malfoy, who was apparently buying his schoolbooks as well. Helen turned to greet him with a smile. Draco had grown an inch or two over the summer, but the difference Helen noticed in him was the lack of stuttering or blushing. It seemed his crush had worn down some, seeing how unreciprocated it was. That was probably for the best, it increased their chances of forming a more genuine friendship. Unfortunately, it also lessened her influence over him. Pity.

"Draco, good to see you! Don't worry about Lockhart, I can handle myself," Helen assured him. His lip curled a bit in reference to Lockhart.

"That doesn't mean what he did was appropriate. I can't believe Dumbledore hired him to be our teacher. This year's Defense class is going to be awful," he sniffed haughtily.

"Probably," Helen commiserated.

"Draco, who is this you're talking too," interjected Lucius Malfoy, stepping up to his son's side. Helen recognized him easily from Knockturn Alley. He was like a tall, middle-aged Draco with gorgeous long locks of white blonde hair that would have made Helen jealous if her own mane wasn't so fantastic (at least in her opinion).

"Father, this is Helen Potter. Helen, this is my father: Lucius Malfoy," Draco introduced formally. They shook hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Potter. Draco has mentioned you in his letter's once or twice," Lucius informed. Helen saw Draco's blush out of the corner of her eye and smirked a bit. It would seem to be more than once or twice.

"All good things, I hope," she bantered back.

"Of course."

It was at that moment that the Weasley's appeared out of the crowd to close ranks around her, Mr. Weasley stepped in front of her protectively.

"Alright there, Helen?" Arthur Weasley asked, eyes never leaving Lucius, who was now sneering at the red head.

"Sure, Draco was just introducing me to his dad," Helen said easily, but she was absolutely riveted. The Weasleys and the Malfoys had a long-standing family feud, and while she'd seen it play out with Draco and Ron, she wondered how it would work between two professional adults.

It turned out to be even more amazing than she'd anticipated. Arthur and Lucius threw a couple verbal jabs at each other, Arthur reminding Lucius that he'd recently raided his manor, Lucius reminding Arthur about his struggling finances- going so far as to pick up one of Ginny's second-hand books in disdain before replacing it in her used cauldron. One thing led to another, and before Helen was sure what was happening Arthur and Lucius were exchanging blows right there in the bookstore while a clerk ran around and begged them to stop. It was glorious.

Helen had once wondered if perpetuating the feud in Ron and Draco would make her a bad person, but now she knew she was doing the right thing. She could only hope that one-day a forty-year-old Ron and a forty-year-old Draco would beat the stuffing out of each other in a crowded public venue and she'd be there to see it.

When the two adults were done embarrassing themselves and entertaining Helen, Lucius adjusted his expensive robes and prowled out of the shop as if he hadn't just abandoned all dignity. Draco scampered after him after an embarrassed wave in her direction

"Helen, you need to be very, very careful where Lucius Malfoy is concerned. He's not a nice man and he's always got an ulterior motive," Mr. Weasley warned, breathing hard. She agreed if only to keep his blood pressure down. After that incident the rest of their trip was positively dull.

The last few days at the Burrow were a whirlwind of preparations for the oncoming school year. Supplies were lost, rediscovered, and lost before they could make it into the right trunk. Fred and George were stealing Percy's Prefect badge and running around with it at least every other hour and Ginny had gotten even stranger. Somewhere in Diagon Alley she'd picked up a little black book, a diary, and she wrote in that thing incessantly. Sometimes she'd stare over at Helen for a bit before she'd start writing rapidly and Helen found the whole thing unnerving. She couldn't wait to be sharing a room with Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione again.

When they left in the family's magically expanded flying car, they were running quite late. As they approached the platform, Helen opted to go first. She wanted Ginny to be able to say a proper goodbye to her family, which seemed quite impossible in her presence. Helen jogged confidently at the hidden entrance, reassured that she'd sink right through the false brick. Her cart slammed into solid stone, recoiling back and smacking into her ribs with enough force to send her flying back half a dozen feet while Hedwig squawked from her upturned cage and the Weasley's all gasped before hurrying to her side.

"Helen, dear, are you okay?" Mrs. Weasley cried nervously. They were getting a few odd looks from passerby but the Weasley's ignored them in favor of crowding around a shocked and bruised Helen.

"I'm fine," she rasped, voice still surprised. It had hurt quite a bit but she'd had worse and she was pretty sure nothing was fractured or broken. It had just knocked the wind out of her. She slowly sat up with Fred's help.

"The platform! It's blocked!" called Percy from where was pounding against what was for all intents and purposes a brick wall. "This can't be happening. I'm a Prefect! I have duties!" he declared, starting to look panicked.

"And we all know how seriously he takes his doodies," Fred mocked under his breath. Helen snorted at the immature joke while regaining her footing.

"Oh no! We've missed the train!" Ginny cried in horror staring at a nearby clock that had just passed 11.

"Well, I guess that means no school this year, huh Fred?"

"Too right, George."

"I guess we'll just have to lay around-"

"Doing nothing but playing Quidditch-"

"And designing pranks-"

"And wrestling the ghoul in the attic all year."

"Such a shame, Fred, such a shame."

"Tragedy, truly."

"Will you two knock it off," barked Percy, looking irritated.

Ron saddled up next to Helen with her cart and a righted Hedwig hooting indignantly on top. Helen sent him a smile.

"Thanks, Ron."

"No problem."

Amongst the chaos was Mrs. Weasley, who was biting her lip in thought.

"I guess there's nothing for it, then. Arthur and I will just have to take a couple trips and apparate you all to school tonight. You could Floo if you didn't have the trunks. Oh, I'm so sorry Ginny! The first ride to Hogwarts is supposed to be special. I just don't know what happened to the barrier," Mrs. Weasley wondered while placing a comforting hand on her daughter's back. Ginny looked close to tears.

"Come on then, everyone back to the car. I'll have to send a letter to Professor Dumbledore and let him know what happened."

They all piled back into the Ford Angela in unhappy, contemplative silence. Ginny was sniffing miserably and Helen's first instinct was to comfort her but she was afraid Ginny would react poorly to it considering she hadn't said two words to Helen since they started sharing a room.

They puttered around in the house for a while. Percy muttered to himself about losing his chance to be Head Boy next year, while the twins talked to each other in whispers- probably over some new prank idea- and Helen and Ron played a few rounds of chess. After a whole year of playing together Helen finally had him on the ropes and she was going to enjoy this triumph. Ginny was in the kitchen with her mother, saddened by the lost opportunity to make friends on the train.

Mr. Weasley arrived home to help with the apparating just as Ron pulled a tricky maneuver from nowhere and claimed victory once more. Helen didn't know if she wanted to hit him or herself more.

Apparition, as it turns out, is an awful way to travel. It felt like she was being twisted through a small tube and when Helen and Mr. Weasley arrived at the Hogwarts gates she had to hold her hands to her knees for a moment so she wouldn't throw up while Hedwig squawked from her cage in Mr. Weasley's hand. He assured her that the first time was the hardest and it'd get better. Helen sincerely doubted that. In the grand scheme of things a little nausea was worth instantaneous cross-country travel, but that didn't make the experience enjoyable.

The others arrived with trunks in hand, one by one. The Weasley parents gave their heart felt good byes before disappearing with a crack and leaving the group to trek to the castle. Professor McGonagall met them at the doors, ordered them to leave their trunks in the foyer and go to their House table before sweeping away with Ginny. They were a few minutes early so they chatted amongst themselves while they waited for the rest of the school to arrive.

It wasn't long before students started trickling into the Great Hall and Helen was assaulted by a head of bushy brown hair in the most aggressive hug she'd ever been subjected too. Hermione had been nearly hysterical with worry when they'd missed the train, and was very happy to see them. The rest of Helen's year mates crowded around as she and Ron explained what happed. No one seemed to have an answer as to why the barrier had malfunctioned.

The First Years were herded into the room, and the sorting commenced after another strange song about the Founders. Helen wouldn't tell the Weasley's, but she was kind of hoping Ginny would be sorted somewhere other than Gryffindor. She didn't dislike the young girl, she just didn't fancy six years of stammering and covert looks across the Common Room.

No such luck, Ginny became a Gryffindor, much to her brothers' pleasure. The feast proceeded normally from there, and it wasn't long until Helen was lying across her bed and chatting with Lavender and Parvati about their summers while Hermione did a little pre-bed reading.

Parvati and Padma had gone to India to visit some family, and Lavander had spent a lot of time giving and receiving music lessons. Helen had gotten to know last year that Lavander was actually a rather accomplished harp player of all things and one of her dreams was to play for an audience in every capital city in Europe. So far she'd checked London and Paris off her list, and she told Helen she might get a chance to travel to Amsterdam over the winter holidays and play. Helen was happy for her friend; the harp was such a romantic instrument.

XXXXXXXXXX

Classes started, and it was all very reminiscent of last year. She continued to excel in Transfiguration above everything else. McGonagall had even started to give her supplementary assignments of harder material so she wouldn't get bored and let her ADHD run wild. Helen had kept these a secret from Hermione, no need to rile her academically competitive friend up.

Helen was also putting more effort into her War for Eye Contact. Her latest strategy was to step up behind Professor Snape quietly so when he whirled around he'd automatically make eye contact with her. So far such behavior had gotten her three instances of eye contact and one scathing lecture while he stared at her forehead. Progress.

Herbology was still awful. They'd started working on these horrid plants called mandrakes that looked like disgusting mutant dirt babies with a deadly cry. Even Neville, who was a big fan of Herbology and the best practical student in their year, hated the things.

The big stand out was by far Defense Against the Dark Arts, though. Quirrell, for all of his faked incompetence and being possessed by an insane mass murder, had a very good handle on the theory, even if his lectures where nearly incomprehensible at times. Lockhart, as Helen had predicted, was both incompetent _and_ an idiot. Their first lesson included a quiz about his favorites and hobbies, and releasing a hoard of Cornish Pixies on the students.

Helen had immediately jumped into action once the pixies had stolen Lockhart's wand and chucked it out the window and she'd finished laughing at him. She'd wielded _Voyages with Vampires_ like a baseball bat and bashed the little menaces to and fro. A pair had kidnapped Neville and hung him from the ceiling before she could defeat them, but his noble sacrifice was honored when Helen bashed those two out the window to join Lockhart's wand.

Hermione seemed to decide that Helen had had enough fun for one day, because she used the Immobilization Charm on the rest of them, and stuffed them back into their cages with Ron's help. The rest of the class and Lockhart had fled the scene already, and Neville's uniform finally ripped and dropped him back down to Earth where he belonged, so that problem fixed itself. Every subsequent class had been Lockhart acting out scenes from his books. At first, he'd tried to get Helen to come up and join him, but Helen had glared at him with such fierce intensity that he'd backed down immediately. She hadn't known it, but it had looked like little emerald green flames had danced in the miasma of her irises for a moment.

XXXXXXXXXX

Quidditch approached quickly with Oliver Wood becoming more fanatical than ever. Apparently, having won the Cup last year made Oliver _very_ reluctant to part with it. Helen was in agreement; their team was fantastic, there's no reason they shouldn't win. The Gryffindors had been heading out for their first practice of the year when they were accosted by the Slytherin team.

Composed primarily of tall, male upperclassmen; the Slytherin Quidditch team cut an imposing figure. Their captain, Marcus Flint, was an aggressive boy who Helen would bet had a bit of troll blood in him based on how he looked. He was also Oliver Wood's archenemy.

"Flint! What are you doing out here? I've had the pitch booked for weeks!" Oliver barked, glowering at his green-clad nemesis. Sensing confrontation, a few of the Gryffindor spectators started coming down to see what the problem was. Helen easily spotted Hermione and Ron headed her way, along with that strange First Year who took his camera everywhere.

"Special permission from Professor Snape," Flint called mockingly, holding up a piece of parchment with the Potion Master's signature for Oliver's perusal. "We need time to train our new Seeker."

"New Seeker? Who?" questioned Alicia Spinnet, eye's narrowed.

"Me," drawled the unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy, as he stepped out from behind his _much_ larger teammates. Helen would give credit where credit was due: the Slytherins knew how to make an entrance.

"Malfoy," Ron growled, starting to turn red already.

"Weasley."

"Draco," Helen chirped cheerfully, cutting through the tension abruptly. Both the Slytherins and her fellow Gryffindors sent her disgruntled looks for interrupting their macho showdown.

"Helen," he said cordially, sending her a small smile. Marcus Flint cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Don't fraternize with the enemy," he grunted.

"Don't worry, Flint," Helen continued sweetly. "Draco knows that, despite our friendship, all bets are off in Quidditch. If the chance arises, I will destroy him," she finished with a smile. It was all teeth, and she took the widening of the Slytherins eyes with dark humor. Flint recovered the quickest.

"Good luck catching him. Or any of us for that matter," Flint grunted, bringing his broom to bear. For the first time, Helen really paid attention to the brooms the Slytherin's were wielding. They all matched, unlike the mish mosh of the Gryffindor team, with dark wood and sleek bristles. On the side, written in fancy, silver cursive was the name: Nimbus 2001. "A gift. From Draco's father," Flint finished triumphantly. Oliver looked ready to have a coronary.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent," Hermione asserted. Helen wanted to smack her own forehead. That slight against their ability was going to push the Slytherins too far; especially considering Hermione wasn't actually on the Quidditch team, or even a talented flyer. As predicted, the Slytherins bristled as one and the competitive spirit of the confrontation leaked out to reveal the persistent bitterness and tension between the Houses that has existed for centuries and was exacerbated by the last war.

"What would you know about talent, you filthy little Mudblood," Draco stated coldly. The effect was immediate. Fred and George lunged forward, barely being restrained by Alicia and Angelina. Katie shrieked in outrage, Oliver got in a yelling match with Flint about 'controlling your team' and Hermione raised a hand to her mouth in shock, eyes quickly filling with tears. Ron's reaction was the most aggressive. He raised his wand in Draco's direction. Helen tilted her head to the side in mild curiosity to see where this all went.

"You take that back, you git!" Ron roared. The camera kid, Colin Creevey, was taking pictures like mad in the background.

"Or what Weasley? Are you going to curse me with that secondhand wand of yours? The unicorn hair is poking out, can you even do magic with it?" Draco sneered. He had a point. Ron's wand had seen better days. It had always been beat up but the last few weeks had worn it down to the point that Ron's spells had started to warp as a result. He'd tried to transfigure a hedgehog into a pincushion last week and ended up melting it instead. The horrifying shrieks of the little animal had haunted their class since. Ron had thrown up in horror.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Ron barked with bravado, but Helen could see how nervous he was. The possibility of Ron melting Draco was sobering. Helen decided to step in, if only to prevent a murder. If she thought they could have had a normal duel, she would have been delighted to watch them fight it out, but even she had her limits.

"That's enough," she barked with all the authority a little twelve-year-old girl could muster. Surprisingly, everyone froze and gave her their full attention. Helen capitalized on the opportunity, a little stunned her command had any effect at all.

"Ron, put your wand away. I'm not covering for you when you accidently kill someone. Draco, you should have realized someone was going to accuse you of buying your way onto the team when you happen to get on when your dad gives a donation. It's a logical conclusion; get over it. Hermione, don't dish it out if you can't take it. Creevey, if you take one more picture I'm going to snap your bleeding camera in half. Oliver, are we practicing or not?" Helen questioned, forcing all of her attention on her captain, who seemed to be surprised by the sudden attention he was receiving.

"Uh…" he sent a covert look at Flint, who just seemed confused at this point.

"You take the first hour, we'll take the second?" the Slytherin compromised after taking one look at the glare she was aiming at him.

"Sure," Oliver said, still sounding a little stunned. He shook his head like a wet dog, and turned to the rest of the team, who were all staring at Flint in outright shock, as was the rest of the Slytherins. "Gryffindors in the air. Now!"

Helen kicked off the ground easily as the Slytherins walked back to the locker rooms and the spectators to their stands, happy to get away from the whole confrontation. What was the world coming to when she had to be the peacemaker? It was surely going mad if she was preventing a confrontation instead of supporting one. Stupid Ron and his stupid, messed up wand.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had been distant with Helen since the Quidditch practice confrontation. She never said more than a few words at a time, and although she wasn't outright avoiding her, she never sat next to Helen in class or at meals if she could help it. Helen had to corner her in the bathroom they'd fought the troll in to get her to talk about it.

"Why didn't you defend me when Malfoy called me… that word?" she'd asked tearfully. Helen would have sighed if she weren't positive it would only make the situation worse. That's what this was about?

"Hermione, all he did was call you a name. I thought you'd be strong enough to take it," Helen stated reasonably. She really didn't understand what the big deal was. Mudblood was just a word. No different then freak or abnormal or abomination, which had been spewed at Helen for her entire childhood. Names only hurt if you let them.

"It's not just a name, though, Helen!" Hermione exclaimed, becoming passionate quickly. "It's a racial slur! He devalued me as a person for something I can't control. It's a sign of how muggleborns are regarded as inferior, how we are treated as less in the Wizarding World!" Hermione's chest was heaving in quick breaths and her eyes were watering again. Helen felt her heart melt a little bit in the face of her friend's genuine distress.  
"Hermione, you know you are far from inferior," Helen said softly, looking Hermione dead in the eye. "You're the best in our class, one of the cleverest students in the school. You outperform Purebloods in your sleep. You can't let a single nasty word tell you otherwise. When you do, you give them power to hurt you. Ignore it and you take that power away from them, you win the fight without even trying."

Hermione was sniffling, but she looked contemplative.

"Did you mean it, when you said you thought I was strong enough to take it?" Hermione asked, looking unsure. Helen nodded decisively.

"Of course. You don't need me to fight your battles for you. I know you're strong. Now you've just got to show everyone else," Helen said resolutely. Hermione cracked a small smile and Helen knew everything would be okay.

XXXXXXXXXX

After that, the year had dragged on as usual until Halloween. The trio had been invited to Nearly-Headless Nick's five hundredth Deathday party, and Hermione had talked Helen and Ron into stopping by, even though Ron had refused to stay there for the entire Halloween Feast. They'd huddled together in the freezing dungeons, making small talk with the Hogwarts ghosts and staying as far away from the rotting food table as possible until the Headless Hunt had showed up to be jerks, which Helen, Ron, and Hermione took as their cue to leave.

They had been heading up to the Feast when Helen first heard the voice. It was an echoed whisper from the floor above them. Hissing about killing and feeding. Helen didn't think about it, she'd immediately followed the voice up to the next floor, hoping to prevent someone from dying or… being fed on? Hermione and Ron struggled to keep up.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped dead in her tracks. Hanging from a torch bracket, stiff and staring at nothing, was Filch's precious cat and bane to all students: Mrs. Norris. Next to the feline body was a message written in dripping red that invoked thoughts of blood.

" _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware."_

Hermione and Ron were staring in shock on either side of Helen, taking in the image with clear horror. All three pre-teens were knocked out of it when they heard the rumbling sound of approaching voices. Helen had a feeling this was going to go bad very quickly. A hoard of students leaving the Halloween Feast stopped short when they saw the trio standing before the horrific message. The group was dead silent.

"What's going on here? Huh? Get moving you brats," came the scratchy tones of Filch as he pushed his way through the crowds. Of course, of all possible adults to show up, it had to be him.

"What are you staring at? What's-" Filch cut himself off when he finally caught sight of his most beloved pet.

"Mrs. Norris? What- What happened? WHAT DID YOU BRATS DO?!" he bellowed in rage and grief. His hand lashed out, and suddenly he had Ron by his collar.

"Was it you?! You and those horrid brothers of yours! Thought you could kill my cat, did you? I'll have you hanging by your thumbs in the dungeons for this! I'll kill you!" Filch sprayed spit into Ron's pale and terrified face, shaking him by his collar in rage.

"Argus! Release Mr. Weasley," demanded the aging tones of Professor Dumbledore. His face was grave, and he'd barely raised his voice, but the commanding tone was unmistakable, and Filch dropped Ron like a sack of potatoes. Helen was a bit envious. She wished she could inspire such instant obedience by modulating her voice. Professor's McGonagall and Snape stood on either side him, looking at the scene grimly. Helen vaguely thought the trio appeared to be some sort of academic entourage.

"He killed my cat! He killed Mrs. Norris and he was caught, right here at the scene of the crime! Him and those girls!" Filch ranted, pointing an accusing finger at Helen and Hermione.

Professor Dumbledore took a step closer to the feline, examining her closely through half-moon spectacles before turning back to the group at large.

"She isn't dead, Argus. Merely petrified," he announced. This didn't seem to alleviate Filch's ire in the least.

"Petrified! My cat's been petrified! You brats petrified Mrs. Norris! I saw you here, right at the scene of the crime," he barked, glaring at the trio heatedly.

"That doesn't prove culpability," McGonagall defended, looking to the Headmaster for back up.

"But it does raise the question of why they were here, and not attending the Halloween Feast with the rest if the school," Snape pointed out in sly tones. Helen nearly rolled her eyes.

"We were at Nick's Deathday party. There's an entire dungeon full of ghosts who can tell you that," Helen said, tone unwavering. She was _not_ going to be accused of ending the bleeding cat if she didn't even get the pleasure of _actually_ doing it. That just wouldn't be fair.

"It couldn't have been them. I hesitate to say it could be any student. Petrification is complex and dangerous magic, well beyond what one can expect from Second Year students. Prefects, please lead your Houses back to their Common Rooms, Professors stay behind," Dumbledore commanded.

Helen, Ron and Hermione were shuffled off with the rest of the Gryffindors by Percy; who was giving orders and comforting upset students simultaneously, truly in his element as a pompous, bossy older brother. Apparently, Dumbledore's declaration of their inability to petrify a cat was defense enough, because they weren't asked to stay behind, which was a relief because Helen could hear the grating voice of Lockhart entering the fray, boasting about how he could of saved Mrs. Norris if he'd arrived a little earlier. A little part of Helen was almost a little bit insulted that Dumbledore thought her so incapable of freezing a cat.

Once they reached the Common Room they were hounded by their housemates for more information, but there really wasn't much of a story to it. They'd only found the cat a minute or two before everyone else had shown up, and Helen was unwilling to discuss the voice she'd heard, even with Ron and Hermione. She was smart enough to know that, even in the Wizarding World, hearing voices wasn't a good thing.

The rest of the school was abuzz with rumors about the Chamber of Secrets for the following days. Everyone wanted to know whom the enemies of the heir were, and the Slytherins were more than willing to tell them it was muggleborns. Hermione was quite upset about this, but she seemed to take Helen's words from earlier in the year to heart, because all she did was raise her head high, and walk around like the rumors didn't affect her at all. Helen was proud as hell.

XXXXXXXXXX

No one could accuse Ares of being a hands-on father. The Ancient Laws forbid it and quite honestly, Ares was a firm believer in his kids fighting their own battles. That's not to say he hadn't stepped in every once in awhile. A gifted weapon here or a blessing there wasn't unheard of. He always made sure to claim the ones that proved themselves in a fight. His kids were expected to be the best warriors, the best fighters, and the best soldiers, no matter what those Athenian brats thought. Usually, they lived up to his expectations. His kids, as extensions of himself, were awesome on principle.

Ares was also prone to playing favorites, as most of the gods were. When you have as many kids as they do, every single one of them can't stand out, and there's even instances of gods outright disliking some of their children. Good luck getting Apollo to talk about Halcyon Green or Hades to mention Adolf Hitler. Ares had his own galleries of least-liked children and favorites. As he gazed upon the flying form of his daughter, Helen Potter, for the first time since her birth Ares got the distinct feeling that he was looking at his new favorite.

He had disguised himself as a fifteen-year-old Gryffindor student and joined the stands for the first Hogwarts Quidditch match of the season. Creative use of the Mist meant no one looked too closely at him, or realized they'd never seen him before. Ares was a fan of Quidditch for it's violent nature and high injury rate. Any game that included high velocity steel balls trying to knock your head off was okay in his book. It had nothing on gladiator fights or chariot races, but it was enjoyable in it's own way (although a single ball being caught by a single player on a seven person team being worth one-hundred and fifty points was bullshit and everyone knew it). This wouldn't be the first time he'd looked in on one of his children, especially the ones with exciting lives. Being immortal got boring at times, and demigods tend to court drama and intrigue.

Ares was already somewhat invested in Helen, even if this was the first time he'd seen her. Aphrodite had been unable to procure a blessing from Eileithyia, as she had insulted her years earlier and had yet to be forgiven. So it was up to Ares to better the chances for their unborn demigod child to make it through birth alive, seeing as the Twice-Blessed rarely did. He'd coaxed and prodded and wheedled and eventually Eileithyia had caved but only if Ares agreed to bless her only living demigod daughter. Ares had capitulated easily, curious why the Goddess of Childbirth wanted a war blessing on her child. Eileithyia said she had a feeling her daughter would need it someday and left it at that. That day, Lily Potter was blessed with an easy and successful birth, and Elizabeth Goode of Boston, Massachusetts was blessed with the skills of a warrior.

This was a lot of effort for a god who generally didn't have much to do with his children until they were old enough to decapitate a Cyclops or stab a Hellhound, so Ares decided to look in on his investment. He was pleased to see that she resembled him somewhat, her hair was the same inky black and her skin was similarly tan. She was gorgeous of course; all the children of Aphrodite were, with regal features and striking green eyes that he vaguely remembers seeing in the face of her mortal mother. She still had a childish cuteness about her that he supposed would melt into womanly beauty in the near future. She was skinny in a way that reminded Ares of long battles with short rations, the hollowness that took time to fill in again, and it displeased him. Were her mortal relatives not capable of feeding her, or did they simply choose not to?

He knew she wasn't living with her mortal parents, knew they were dead. How could he not when their deaths had ended a war? Ares remembers being rather proud when he heard. His infant daughter had won a war before she was old enough to speak in full sentences. It was a very good record; he had rubbed it in Enyo's face for weeks, his sister being one of a few immortals to know about Helen's existence along with Eileithyia and his five children with Aphrodite: Eros, Anteros, Phobos, Deimos and Harmonia.

He wanted the emergence of a Twice-Blessed demigoddess to be dramatic, he wasn't going to tell the rest until he and 'Dite claimed her at Camp. She would be attending Camp, of course, to properly train. He'd already had her name written down on the list to be picked up. The limited number of demigods being born outside of America meant Satyrs were only sent out every few years to other countries, and generally only picked up demigods on specific request, mostly Olympian kids as the reduced number of monsters made it nearly pointless to train any of the weaker demigods to live outside the Heart of the West.

Ares tracked Helen across the sky as she dodged a Bludger aimed at her head with ease. Her reflexes were good, and she was a natural flyer, obviously comfortable in the domain of both her immortal grandfathers: Zeus by him and Ouranos by Aphrodite. Ares watched the same Bludger Helen had just avoided turn unnaturally and go rocketing towards his daughter again. She swerved out of the way, still looking for the Snitch. So, the Bludger was cursed to go after her then? That ought to make things interesting, and it would certainly be a good test of her skill. After all, Ares didn't fight his children's battles.

The Bludger rounded on her a third time, and Ares could see her eyes narrow in irritation with his advanced eyesight. The Beaters on her team seemed to have realized something was going on, because they flew to her side and tried to bat the Bludger away repeatedly and protect their Seeker, but the distraction was costly. The other Bludger, which was behaving as it was supposed to, had been hit by a Slytherin Beater and nearly knocked one of their Chasers off her broom. Helen noticed and motioned the two Gryffindor Beaters to go protect the others. The twin Beaters seemed reluctant to listen to her, but his daughter was insistent and the boys complied. Helen wanted to handle this on her own.

He watched an idea spark in her eyes as the cursed Bludger chased her. She was trying to look for the Snitch, keep an eye on the other Seeker, and dodge all at the same time, and it was accomplishing very little. He watched her speed up and fly toward the Slytherin goal posts. She dove sharply before pulling up, getting the Bludger off her tail for a few precious seconds. She used those to pull herself parallel to the Slytherin Keeper, turn, and face the Bludger. She hovered there, waiting as the steel ball came whistling through the air toward her and the Keeper looked on in confusion. At the very last second, Helen dropped through the air on her broom. The ball flew right through where Helen had been hovering and sped right into the Slytherin Keeper, knocking him clear off his broom and twenty feet down to the pitch. There was a roar from the Gryffindor stands and a round of nasty booing from the Slytherins. Ares felt a bloodthirsty grin spread across his face. His daughter was smart, creative, and ruthless enough to take out a player in a manner some would dub 'unfair.' He liked her more every minute.

She swooped away from the newly unguarded hoops, the Bludger once more turning to follow her. She seemed to spot the Snitch and made a quick dive toward the pitch, following a dancing gleam of gold. The other Seeker seemed to notice it as well, as he pulled up parallel to her, chasing the Snitch. He smacked into her purposefully a few times, and she gave back what she got, neither above pulling dirty tricks at this point as the Bludger gained on them and the Snitch continued to avoid them both. They had to make a quick turn to keep up with the little gold ball, and it brought Helen into the line of the Bludger. With a resounding crack the steel ball smacked into his daughter's right arm, breaking it.

Ares watched her reaction carefully, and was pleased when she barely flinched at the injury. She leaned down on her broom, hooked the unbroken upper part of her injured arm under it to anchor herself, and then reached out with her left. She snatched the Snitch to thunderous applause, and continued to dodge the persistent Bludger. The twins were now free to defend her, and they batted the ball away repeatedly until one of the Professors had the good sense to destroy the damn thing. Helen landed victorious, right arm hanging uselessly at her side, left grasping the Snitch triumphantly. A Professor walked up to her and tried to heal her arm, but Helen side-stepped him easily, and she should, Ares could tell he was incompetent just by looking at him.

Over all, Ares was satisfied with what he was seeing. She was determined, capable, could take a hit, and was ruthlessly strategic. He couldn't wait for her arrival at Camp. She'd wipe the floor with monsters, demigods, and anyone who crossed her path. Viciously pleased, Ares sank into the crowd of departing students, disappearing as if he'd never been there at all.

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen had to visit the Hospital Wing after her successful Quidditch match. Madam Pomfrey had her all healed in ten minutes, and Helen was glad she managed to avoid Lockhart's attempt at 'healing.' She would have probably ended up in the Hospital Wing a lot longer that way.

After her release, Helen made her way to the Gryffindor Common Room where the victory party was in full swing. Helen wasn't quite ready to party yet though, she had a camera-happy ingrate to handle. He'd been all over her at the end of the match, and frankly, she was sick of it. Spotting Colin Creevey in the corner of the room, Helen made her way toward the First Year before anyone could stop her to congratulate her performance on the game.

"Creevey, we need to talk," she said tersely, looming over the small boy where he was seated. Colin looked at her in wide-eyed admiration.

"Helen! You were so good at the match! I've never been to a Quidditch game before but-" he started babbling before Helen cut him off.

"Colin, shut up," she ordered. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click. "You've been taking a lot of pictures of me, and it needs to stop. It's creepy and uncomfortable and you need to knock it off," she asserted. He looked at her wide-eyed.

"I just wanted proof I'd met you, you know? I mean, you're so famous and pretty and I'm just a muggleborn First Year…" he trailed off. The enthusiastic, mousy kid looked so pathetic that Helen could practically feel herself melting to his puppy dog eyes against her will.

"You're too harsh on yourself, Colin," she sighed, sitting down across from him to take this from a list of angry demands into a conversation. "It doesn't matter if you're muggleborn, and trust me, everyone who cares if you met me knows we're in the same House. You don't need photographic proof," she chided.

"It doesn't matter?" Colin asked, eyes wide. Helen couldn't believe she was having this conversation _again_.

"Of course not, anyone who says it does is an idiot, brainwashed, or is only saying it because other people expect it of them, not because they agree. I'm going to be honest, it'll be hard, and you'll have to deal with a lot of idiots who try to use it against you, but you can't let stuff like that shape your behavior. You can't let it get you so worked up that you become a stalker," she said with a pointed look at his camera. Colin had the decency to blush.

"I think some of it… I mean… I was just so excited to be here…" he rambled, looking calmer than Helen had ever seen him at school. Helen much preferred this Colin Creevey.

"It's okay to be… enthusiastic. I love the Wizarding World too, with everything I have. You just need to mind yourself and how you affect other people," she explained patiently. He nodded his acceptance. She clapped her hands together.

"Excellent! Then there's really only one more thing to discuss. What have you been doing with all those pictures?" she asked. She was debating whether or not she was going to have to raid the boy's dormitories to make sure there wasn't a cache of super embarrassing shots of her.

"Oh, I keep all of my photos in a box, I'll go get it!" he announced before bouncing away. Helen leaned back into her chair to wait for him, tapping her nails against the arm. The Bludger had scraped some of her red nail polish off; she'd have to fix that tonight.

Colin reappeared, simple wooden box in hand. He handed it over with a blush.

"They're, um, not very good," he stuttered.

Helen took the lid off, and was surprised by what she saw. Hundreds of pictures resided inside the box, some moving and some not. There were breathtaking landscape photos of the Hogwarts grounds, stunning sunrises, and amazing nature shots. Colin had even managed to capture a distant photo of a _unicorn_. It didn't take long until Helen found a picture of herself. The sun was behind her head, giving the Helen in the photo an incandescent glow. She found another, and another and another, all of them complimentary. He always captured her good side.

"Colin, these are amazing," Helen said, picking up a picture of sunlight reflecting off the Black Lake. "You have a real gift."

It was true. Helen had always appreciated beauty in others, in art, and in nature itself. Colin had captured the beauty in everything he'd photographed, even things that weren't themselves overly beautiful, like the Whomping Willow. Colin blushed harder.

"You think so?" he asked shyly. Helen nodded her head vigorously.

"Yeah, I bet you could even sell some of these," she said, and then realized her mistake a moment later. "But not the ones of me. You do not have permission to do that, you understand?" she asked sternly. The last thing she needed was Colin Creevey selling photos of her. She gave Colin a hard look, and he nodded quickly.

"Right, don't sell photos of you. Got it. Um, I did give a few to someone who asked, though," he said hesitantly. Helen was instantly irritated.

"Who? she demanded.

"Ginny Weasley. She asked for a couple a few weeks ago. Five or six I think. Maybe seven… or eight."

Helen felt her eye twitch and didn't try to stop it. Of course it was Ginny.

"I'll handle Ginny. You are not going to give anymore away. You are definitely not going to follow me around anymore, and so help me Colin if I find out you've sold any I'll make you eat your camera. Understood?" she asked, bringing the conversation back to the demanding tone she'd originally intended. Colin nodded like a bauble head.

"Yes, of course, no more photos of you. Understood," he said quickly. Helen narrowed her eyes, looking for even a hint of deceit. She found none.

"Good."

And she walked away to join the party and let Hermione fret about the cursed Bludger. The next day, Colin would be found petrified, the first human victim of the Heir of Slytherin, and there would be a persistent rumor that Helen had been seen threatening him the night before. She never denied it, technically she had threatened him, and lying would only throw more suspicion on her. Still, the rumors didn't get really bad until the dueling club.

The school decided that having a dueling club would be a good idea in such troubling times. Helen thought this was a good idea. They also decided to let Lockhart run it. Helen _knew_ this was a bad idea. He pranced around, dropped his wand, gave Professor Snape an excellent chance to work out some frustrations and teach the room the Disarming Charm, and paired them up to fight each other with very little instruction. Helen was paired with Pansy Parkinson, who hated her for some unknown reason. She'd summoned a snake to attack Helen, Helen told the snake to back down, and then suddenly half the school thought she was the Heir of Slytherin.

Helen could almost understand their reasoning. She was a Parselmouth (the technical term for talking to snakes), she'd threatened Colin (as far as they knew, no one was sure on the particulars of their conversation), and she'd been at the scene of the crime where Mrs. Norris was petrified (although no one had seemed to care at the time of the attack and were only now bringing it up).

The school had been broken down into factions and public opinion was straying wildly back and forth. The Gryffindors vehemently defended her, glaring at anyone who even alluded to the idea she might be the heir. Similarly, the Slytherins denied it as well, but more because they found it insulting that someone would think the Heir of Slytherin could possibly be a Gryffindor.

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, on the other hand, were terrified of her. They sat as far away as possible from her in class, tried not to make eye contact with her (they weren't nearly as successful as Professor Snape in that endeavor), and whispered nasty things about her behind her back. Helen had made a game of walking up behind people when they did that and clearing her throat. The look on their faces when they were caught was always hilarious. This unfortunately backfired on her when she caught Justin Finch-Fletchley out, and then he was petrified the next day along with Nearly-Headless Nick. She seriously could not catch a break with her timing. The Hufflepuffs became even worse after that, the only exception being Cedric Diggory.

Cedric Diggory was a handsome Fifth Year with a sunny smile and light brown hair streaked with natural blonde highlights. He'd personally apologized to Helen for his House's behavior and accusations, and assured her that he was doing everything he could as a Prefect to try and stop them. Helen had shot him her most charming smile and assured him everything was fine, while her heart fluttered in her chest. Cedric was just _so_ cute and _so_ sweet.

She'd reported the fluttery feeling back to Lavender and Parvati that night, and was met with squeals of excitement. According to them, she had a crush on Cedric. It didn't take a lot of convincing for Helen to think they might be right. She'd never been afraid of her feelings, and even though liking a boy was relatively new territory for her, she'd been liked by many other boys before, so she wasn't really uncomfortable with the whole crush concept, this was just a new role for her. She settled into the role rather well, in her opinion. She appreciated his looks from afar, smiled if she caught his eye in the hallway, and giggled about how cute he was with Lavender and Parvati but never with Ron and Hermione despite them being her best friends. Hermione still found it to be silly nonsense and Ron was too… Ron. No. Never with Ron.

XXXXXXXXXX

Speaking of Ron and Hermione, they were thoroughly convinced that the Heir of Slytherin had cursed that Bludger and had it out for her. They were also convinced that the Slytherins knew who the Heir was and that the only way to get them to talk would be to brew illegal Polyjuice Potion and sneak into their Common Room in disguise. Helen had disagreed and suggested they just walk up and ask the Slytherins if they knew anything. Ron had nearly gone ballistic, insisting they would lie and that Draco was probably the Heir himself. Helen had laughed in his face. She was getting to know Draco rather well this year, they partnered in Potion's sometimes just to see the look on Snape's face (apparently he was Draco's godfather of all things), and if she knew anything about Draco, she knew that he wouldn't be able to not brag about such an exulted lineage. Nope, Draco was out of the running, but he might know something.

This search for knowledge was why she was marching over to the Slytherin table during lunch, a week before winter holidays were set to begin. She was getting bizarre looks from just about everyone in the Hall, Ron himself knew her plan and had his head in his hands, moaning about how they'd eat her alive while Hermione clutched a textbook in fearful anticipation. Helen made sure to smile at Cedric as she passed the Hufflepuff table, never one to miss an opportunity. He smiled back, looking thoroughly amused at the ruckus she was causing.

Having reached her destination, Helen plopped down on the bench across from Draco who was flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle. To her left was the beautifully impassive face of Blaise Zabini and to her right was Daphne Greengrass. Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson sat to Daphne's right and Theodore Nott rounded off their lunch group on Blaise's left. They were staring at her in various states of surprise, but she just smiled and reached for an apple as if she always joined them for lunch.

"Afternoon, everyone," she greeted, rolling the apple in her hands. This seemed to snap the Slytherins out of their shock.

"What are you doing here?" sneered Parkinson, looking rather upset with Helen's presence. Helen put on her best innocent expression.

"I only stopped by to talk of course. Draco, how is your day going?" she asked with all civility. She tried to keep a politely curious expression on her face, but she couldn't help the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Uh, good?" he answered looking unsure.

"That's nice to hear."

"Okay, Potter. What are you really doing here?" Daphne interjected, obviously fed up with Helen's games. Helen let out a long-suffering sigh.

"This is the thanks I get for civil conversation? Harsh. Well, straight to the point then. I want to know everything you guys know about the Heir of Slytherin," she stated bluntly. She received a round of raised eyebrows.

"We don't know nothing," rumbled Crabbe. Helen almost fell off the bench in shock. So he actually _could_ talk. His grammar wasn't the best but it was still a worthy discovery.

"Yeah, I actually don't believe that. It's the Heir of _Slytherin_. If anyone is going to know anything, it would be the _Slytherins_ ," she pointed out.

"Even if we did know something, why should we tell you?" asked Blaise Zabini in a smooth voice. Blaise was a lot like her in the respect that he was eye-catchingly attractive. It wasn't the charming, athletic attractiveness that Oliver had, or the proper, aristocratic beauty of Daphne Greengrass, or even the roguish charm of the Weasley twins. It was the classic beauty of ancient statues, perfectly proportioned and carved from stone. It was beauty to be appreciated, and turned into a weapon if one was smart enough. Helen was sure he was smart enough, just as she knew she was.

"Because I'm taking a lot of heat for his extra-curricular activities, I think I have a right to know, if only to clear my good name," she replied, still casual. Anger wouldn't help her here.

"How do you know it's a him?" Millicent Bulstrode questioned, having caught Helen's pronoun.

"Heir implies male. Which is another reason it can't be me, of course. I'm an heiress, I wouldn't have mistaken my gender in my threat," she said faux-reasonably.

"Unless you wanted to throw someone off the trail," Draco pointed out.

"If changing heiress to heir is the only thing I'm doing to get people off my trail than I obviously haven't thought through this whole school-wide petrification plot enough." Several of the Slytherins around her actually cracked a smirk at that.

"Fair enough. Still, this seems like pretty important information to you. What do we get out of sharing?" Daphne asked, the quintessential Slytherin.

"The warm and fuzzy feeling of doing a good deed?" Helen deadpanned.

"Maybe this isn't a question of gaining something. Maybe this is more of a chance for her to prove herself," came the quiet voice of Theodore Nott. Nott was a weedy boy, skinny and tall for his age. He was also quiet and generally bookish as far as Helen could tell, although not to Hermione levels.

"Prove myself how, exactly?" Helen asked, a little intrigued. She made sure to look Nott straight in his light brown eyes.

"You want Slytherin only information? Prove yourself a Slytherin. Meet us in our Common Room tonight at seven," Theodore Nott offered. Helen felt a toothy smile spreading across her face.

"And of course, you won't tell me where that is or how to get in," she filled in the blanks for everyone who was failing to see the problem. Flashes of understanding went around the group and even a few satisfied looks, as if they found this an appropriate compromise. They must think it incredibly hard to get into their Common Room.

"It's not proving yourself if we give you everything you need to know," Nott said drily. Helen nodded in graceful acknowledgment.

"Challenge accepted, Theodore Nott."

And with that, Helen took at sharp bite of her apple before forcefully coercing Draco into a discussion about potions like this was completely normal. The others decided to play it off similarly, except Pansy who looked like she was about to explode.

That evening, Helen snuck out of the Gryffindor Common Room under her Invisibility Cloak much to Ron and Hermione's discomfiture. They'd both begged Helen to reconsider marching straight into the Snake Pit but Helen was having none of it. She wanted information; she'd go get it. The Slytherins didn't intimidate her, and quite honestly, she wasn't so different from them. The Sorting Hat had been rather insistent that she would fit in there, and Helen believed it to be right. The silent fighting, the mind games, their rather ruthless natures were all things she'd seen in herself at one time or another. She figured she could find friends in the Snake Pit, and one day it may become very valuable that she does.

She stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the dungeons, silent and invisible, and waited for Slytherin students to pass her by. She didn't have to wait long for a pair of third year boys to go strolling by, laughing and chatting. She started following them, trying to muffle her footsteps as much as possible. Helen was beginning to understand why the other Slytherins thought this would be such a challenge, once they got past the Potion's classroom, the dungeons became a labyrinth of stone with so many twists and turns it's amazing any Slytherin First Year ever managed to find the Common Room.

The two Third Years stopped in front of a completely blank stretch of wall, whispered something, and then entered the newly separated bit of wall that closed immediately behind them. Helen cursed; she'd been too far behind them to hear the password or sneak in before the entrance closed. She shucked her Cloak off and stuffed it into her backpack, which she'd brought along for that express purpose. No need to announce that she had an Invisibility Cloak to the world.

She ran her hand along the blank stretch of wall, deep in thought. What would Slytherins use for their password? She tried a few words, like 'silver', 'green' and 'snake' but it wasn't getting her anywhere. Her finger ran over a rough spot in the wall, and she stopped to look at it. A little carved snake was curled in the corner of a stone. It gave her an idea. She was a Parselmouth, and it was famously a trait of Salazar Slytherin and his descendants, which is why she was getting into so much trouble with her peers. What if there was some sort of failsafe for the Common Room, so a Slytherin descendent would always be able to get in? A Parseltounge failsafe? Helen concentrated on the snake, trying to imagine it as a living reptile; she'd only ever managed to speak snake in the presence of one before.

" _Open._ "

Helen could barely here the hissed undertones in her word. It mostly sounded like English to her. Apparently it wasn't though, because the wall split open smoothly, revealing the Slytherin Common Room to the young Gryffindor. She threw her shoulders back, raised her head high, and stepped confidently into the Snake Pit. It was as green as its Gryffindor counterpart was red. It must have been at least partially under the lake, because all the natural light was filtered green and the windows looked out into an underwater landscape. The furniture was just as nice as that in Gryffindor, but the Slytherin Common Room seemed more ornate somehow. It had silver chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and elaborate wall sconces to hold torches. Helen liked it.

She spotted the Second Years all huddled up in the corner of the room. She saw books, pieces of parchment and stray quills stacked up on the surrounding tables as if they had been working but got bored and decided to chat instead. She headed in their direction, adopting an uninterested expression.

"So, did I pass your test?" she asked, startling the group, who looked at her in surprise.

"Helen, you got in!" Draco said sounding pleasantly surprised. Helen sent him a smile as she slipped into the only empty armchair between Daphne and Millicent.

"I did indeed," she replied. "I believe that means you all have some information to share."

"What exactly did you want to know?" Theodore Nott asked, staring at Helen in a new light. He looked like he was on the verge of solving a rather complex puzzle.

"Everything you can tell me about the Chamber of Secrets or the Heir of Slytherin," she answered promptly.

"Why? So you can stop the attacks? They're just Mudbloods, I don't see the big deal," Pansy sniffed. Helen rolled her eyes.

"It's a big deal because I'm getting blamed for something I didn't do. If the attacks don't stop they're going to be looking for someone to accuse so they feel productive, and that someone could be me," Helen argued. She also wanted the attacks stopped because some of her friends were muggleborn, but that argument wouldn't get her very far here.

The Slytherins seemed to have a silent conversation amongst themselves before coming to a decision as a group. Draco straightened up importantly.

"We don't know who the Heir is exactly, but we do know this isn't the first time the Chamber has been opened. Back in the forties, it was opened and attacks started happening just like now, all aimed at the Mudbloods," Draco shared.

"It was said that Slytherin never wanted them to go to Hogwarts in the first place. They didn't know our traditions, didn't appreciate magic as a gift from the gods, so they didn't deserve a place here. He argued with the other three founders and had a vicious duel with Gryffindor, and then left the school," Blaise continued for him smoothly.

"They say he left a monster behind though. A monster only he or his descendants would be able to control, in a place only they could get to: the Chamber of Secrets," Millicent continued. Good Lord, had they rehearsed this? The staggered story telling? Helen had to put a lot of effort into keeping her face blank and not cracking up at the thought. Daphne picked up were Millicent left off.

"The purpose of the monster would be to cleanse the school of Mudbloods, especially those that don't conform and practice the Old Ways. It's been down in that Chamber for one-thousand years, waiting for the Heir of Slytherin to release it to purge the school, according to legend."

"The story doesn't stop with the legend, though, as Draco said" Theodore interjected, a conspiratorial look on his face. "In the forties, the Chamber was opened, and attacks started happening just as they are now, petrifications of the Mudbloods. They were going to shut down the school, especially after one of the victims died. They didn't though, a student caught the culprit, the monster fled into the forest, and the supposed Heir was expelled," Nott finished. Helen caught something inconsistent in his wording though.

"Supposed culprit?"

"My grandfather was here during the attacks, and told my father about them, who told me. I know who they expelled, and there is no bleeding way they are the Heir of Slytherin. He had to be a scapegoat," Nott explained. The rest of the group look surprised, like Theodore hadn't mentioned it to them before.

"My father wouldn't tell me who it was, I can't believe yours did," Draco said sounding somewhat insulted.

"Who was it?" Daphne asked. Helen leaned forward in anticipation.

"Hagrid."

"You're joking, " Helen stated in disbelief. The very idea that naïve, innocent Hagrid could kill a student was unthinkable.

"I'm not. That's why I know he must be a scapegoat. I mean really, that oaf as the Heir of Slytherin? Give me a break," Nott said, sounding sure. The others nodded, seeing the logic. Draco still looked a little petulant that his father hadn't told him.

"But you don't know who it is or where the Chamber is located?" Helen clarified, just to be sure. The others shook their heads. Helen wanted to sigh, but she really couldn't complain. She had a lot more information now to work with. She'd have to unravel this all rather soon if she wanted to clear her name before the Ministry or the Hogwarts Board of Governors decided to start pointing fingers. She also needed to look up information on the Old Ways Daphne mentioned. Apparently it was something the wizardborn were familiar with, maybe she'd ask Ron.

"Thank you for your help. I'll think on this," Helen said, preparing to leave. Nott stopped her with a wave of his hand.

"Stay a minute, please. We've answered some of your questions, I think you should answer some of ours," he said, a calculating gleam in his eye. The others looked at him in confusion, as if this hadn't been part of the plan, but he ignored them.

"Depends on the question," she said, intrigued despite herself.

"You aren't really a Gryffindor, are you?" he stated more than asked, the others looked as surprised as she felt by the exclamation. Helen tried to hide a smile; these were the mind games she was talking about.

"I don't know what you mean," she said in false innocence. Nott looked at her shrewdly.

"The Sorting Hat, it didn't really want to put you in Gryffindor, did it? You're a Slytherin," he announced. The others began to look thoughtful, as if considering the merit of the idea. Pansy just looked angry.

"Oh please, Theo. You have to be kidding. She's the Gryffindor Golden Girl, a lion to the core!" she exclaimed, fidgeting in her seat.

"Or that's just what she wants everyone to think," Blaise murmured, a sly smile stretching across his face. Helen decided to play along.

"What led you to that conclusion?"

"Several things," Theodore said, taking on the air of a scholar. "That move you pulled in the Quidditch match, when you got our Keeper taken out with a rogue Bludger, that was about as far from fair play as you can get."

"I don't remember 'fair play' being part of the Hat's song," she argued, just for the sake of it. Nott waved her off easily.

"But chivalry is, and that move wasn't exactly chivalrous either. You also keep up with us, you understand double speak and hiding your intensions without actually lying. Half the words out of your mouth since you've gotten here have been less than genuine," he continued, really getting into it now. "I remember how long your sorting took, you weren't exactly an instant Gryffindor. You even managed to find the Common Room without help."

"Wow, _Theo_ , I didn't realize you were paying so much attention to me. It could start to give a girl ideas, you know?" she said, just a tad flirtatiously. The shade of red his face turned was hilarious, and even his friends started laughing at the look on his face. Ha, twelve-year-old boys, they think they're so clever until the topic of girls is brought up.

"You didn't answer my question. Did that Hat want you in Slytherin?" he asked, trying to power through his embarrassment. She decided to throw him a bone, even if she didn't want to reveal too much.

"It was discussed," she admitted. Triumph alighted Nott's eyes. He was the picture of a smug know-it-all in that moment.

"Why didn't you then. Go to Slytherin, I mean," Draco asked, looking a little woeful at what could have been. Helen sent him a mischievous smile.

"I look good in red," she deadpanned. The others snickered a bit, but Helen could just barely catch 'you look good in everything' come from Draco. She pretended not to hear it.

Further questions where stopped when the wall slid open to reveal Professor Snape.

"I expect that everyone who plans to stay over the holidays has- Potter what are you doing in here?" Snape barked, cutting himself off. Helen stood up and collected her school bag, straightening her uniform as she did. She knew when she was about to be kicked out. The whole Common Room had turned to stare, apparently having missed her initial entrance and had not realized there was a lion amongst them.

"Just visiting some friends, Professor," she said, all innocence. Snape didn't seem to be falling for it.

"Who let you in? Did someone give you the password?" he questioned aggressively, hard eyes zeroing in on his godson who was shaking his head in rapid denial. Helen stepped in to save him from the Potion Master's wrath.

"I let myself in, Professor, no one helped me. Quite honestly, I didn't need their help. They couldn't keep me out if they tried," she said, trying to meet his eyes, their never-ending battle continuing. _Why_ wouldn't he look her in the eye?

"What do you mean?" he demanded. They had the whole Common Room's attention now, and Helen had a decision to make. She could explain it aloud, and try to seem innocent in her use of a 'Dark gift' or she could demonstrate and make a ploy for respect in the Snake House. Well, she'd never been afraid of a challenge before. Helen supposed she really was a Gryffindor. The word came easier the second time.

" _Open."_

Everyone in the room jerked back, even Professor Snape. There were a few cries of surprise, and a First Year even fell out of their chair as the wall slid open. Snape's black eyes finally caught hers, and Helen could almost see a glimmer of fear before it was extinguished. Helen turned back to the Second Years, looking just as pale and surprised as the rest.

"See you in Potions."

And she walked right out of the Slytherin Common Room with no one bothering to follow her. So this is what fear feels like.

XXXXXXXXXX

The winter holidays were quite similar to last year. The school was decorated splendidly, food was in abundance, and the general mood was cheery. Hermione, the Weasley's, Draco and Theo opted to stay, so she was never without company. Helen had begun a campaign of befriending the Slytherins in her year, so she spent several meals during the last week of the semester at their table. Draco was always delighted by her appearance, and the others were warming up to her as well. Except Pansy, of course, but Helen was starting to realize why: Pansy had a gigantic crush on Draco and saw Helen as some sort of competition. Helen didn't bother to correct her; her ire was too funny.

Ron absolutely hated that Helen was cozying up to the 'slimey snakes' but he'd get over it. She made sure to play extra games of chess and Exploding Snap with him to dampen his irritation though, and it seemed to be working.

The only out-of-the-ordinary part of her break was a trip to the second floor girl's bathroom. Generally, everyone avoided it due to the presence of Moaning Myrtle, but she really needed to go. After relieving herself, she nearly tripped over a dirty caldron and a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_. Someone had been brewing in the bathroom, and left in a hurry, it would seem. They either finished their potion and stored it away, or ruined it because all that was left was the greyish dregs at the bottom.

She thought about doing nothing until she actually opened _Moste Potente Potions_ out of curiosity. She took one look at the recipe for a poison that made one bleed to death through their eyeballs, and then ran off to retrieve Professor Snape. He wasn't happy to see her, or be dragged into a girl's bathroom, but he was even less happy when he saw the book and caldron. One sniff of the caldron determined it to be Polyjuice Potion, and Helen was sent to retrieve the Headmaster before being banished to Gryffindor Tower. She had cross-examined Hermione to make sure she and Ron hadn't gone through with their ridiculous plot to interrogate the Slytherins, and they swore they didn't, which was even more worrying because it meant someone else was wandering around with the ability to look like anyone, and that someone may very well be the Heir of Slytherin.

Helen decided she couldn't wait any longer after a Ravenclaw Prefect named Penelope Clearwater was petrified (which sent Percy Weasley into a tizzy for some reason) and traveled to Hagrid's hut to gently question him about what happened when the Chamber was opened before. Ron had accompanied her, and they were both interrupted when Lucius Malfoy entered the hut with Professor Dumbledore and some bumbling fool named Fudge who was apparently the Minister for Magic. Hagrid was taken to prison, and Helen had to literally bite her tongue under the Invisibility Cloak she was so upset, but not before he advised the seemingly empty room to follow the spiders.

That was exactly what Helen did, dragging a reluctant Ron behind her who had a deathly fear of spiders due to the twins transfiguring his teddy bear into a tarantula when he was a toddler (she had high-fived the twins for that prank when Ron wasn't looking). The spiders kept getting larger as they plunged deeper into the Forbidden Forest, and Ron was getting paler as well, he looked positively sickly in the moonlight.

Eventually, they met Aragog- a giant spider the size of a truck that could talk. Helen was rather proud of Ron for not passing out in fear. Aragog told them about how he was accused of being the monster that terrorized the school, but it was actually the 'one that spiders flee in fear of.' He asserted that Hagrid was wrongfully accused, which Helen found a huge relief. She was _not_ going to let Hagrid go down for this.

The whole visit was going rather well until Aragog decided to be a prick and offer them up as food for his many kids. Helen's ADHD had flown off the handle, and she'd scooped up a pointed branch and stabbed it through the head of an acromantula before she could even think about it. One was dead but they were still horribly outmatched and now the giant spiders were angry. Ron and Helen had fled through the forest; nearly being eaten several times and were eventually surrounded by the clicking, eight-legged monstrosities.

Helen looked around in desperation and was about ten seconds away from flinging herself at one of the bugs and trying to strangle the life out of it with her bare hands when arrows had whistled through the air. A stampede of centaurs broke through the woods, shooting arrows with incredible speed and accuracy. Acromantulas were dropping left, right and center while neither Helen nor Ron were so much as scratched. Helen was in awe of their skill, and barely managed to stutter out a thank you. One of them stepped forward, and introduced himself as Firenze.

"Venus and Mars shine brightly on you, Helen Potter. You have a great destiny. Take heed, however, there will be loss and pain and Death." With that cheery statement delivered in a mystical voice, Firenze turned to leave. The centaurs ran off to do whatever a tribe of half-horse archers did in their free time.

Ron had more-or-less been a wreck after that and went to bed as soon as they returned to the Tower. Helen was also pretty tired from their impromptu hike, and fell into her four-poster gracelessly that night. She'd woken up the next morning groggy and with the persistent feeling that something was wrong. She didn't understand what the problem was until she'd looked into the mirror that morning.

A lock of hair was missing. Three inches (a complete curl!) was just gone! It must have gotten cut in the forest somehow, but Helen was too busy freaking out to care. She dove for Lavender's collection of magical beauty magazines. She knew she saw a hair regrowth spell in there somewhere, and she was determined to find it. It took a half-an-hour, in which her roommates tried and failed to determine what was wrong with her before she found what she was looking for. It was a weak spell, and could only grow a few inches at most, but that was all Helen needed. Once her hair had been fixed and Helen had explained the situation, Hermione lamented the vanity of her best friend. Helen smiled cheekily and lamented her own best friends status as a know-it-all. Hermione had very little to comment on after that.

Valentine's Day was soon after her foray into the Forbidden Forest, but the less said about that, the better. The only one who was more upset by Lockharts dwarves than her seemed to be Blaise Zabini, who was caught trying to chuck one off the fourth floor balcony. He got two weeks detention, but seemed to feel it was worth it.

The year continued on, and fear was circulating through the school constantly. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were still terrified of her, to the point of Gryffindor winning their second match against Ravenclaw because Helen got a little too close to their Seeker while chasing the Snitch, and the girl had veered horribly off course in fright.

Helen, Ron, and Hermione logged serious hours in the library, trying to determine what the monster in the Chamber was. Hermione was the most effective researcher between the three of them (Helen still struggled with Dyslexia and Ron was a poor student in general) and she'd often run off to the library herself without telling anyone if she had a sudden idea.

This ended up being a damning habit, as one of her sojourns ended with Hermione being petrified with a mirror clutched in her hand. Helen and Ron had visited her in the Hospital Wing; Ron was woeful but Helen was nearly vibrating with rage. That Heir of Slytherin bastard had attacked her _best friend_. She'd make him pay. Make him suffer for his actions.

Even stuck as a statue, Hermione still found ways to be helpful. Helen discovered a crumpled up piece of paper clutched in her frozen hand; a page from a book on magical creatures describing basilisks. It was like everything suddenly fell into place as Helen read over the passage.

Basilisks (Or drakons, as Ollivander had informed her was their technical species when she'd received her rosewood and drakon heartstring wand nearly two years ago) were serpents, which explained the voice Helen heard the night Mrs. Norris was petrified, and why it could only be controlled by Slytherin or his descendants. Spiders fled in their wake, and they could live to be extraordinarily old, going centuries in a type of hibernation where they didn't require food or activity.

Their gaze was supposed to be deadly, but Helen theorized that was only when looked upon directly. Mrs. Norris had fallen on a night when Moaning Myrtle had flooded the corridor, and probably only caught a reflection of the beast in water on the floor. Colin had seen it through his camera lens, and Justin Finch-Fletchley through Nearly-Headless Nick. Both Penelope Clearwater and Hermione had been petrified with mirrors in their hands.

Helen showed Ron the page, and they both raced off to inform Professor Dumbledore of what Hermione had discovered, only to be met with an empty office. Apparently, Dumbledore had been sacked by the Board of Governors for failing to protect the school earlier that day. Helen was rather worried about this for two reasons; the first being she was pretty sure she'd be next on their hit list if they were to continue finding people to blame, and the second being she was positive this was a precursor to them shutting down the school, which would land her back at the Dursleys. It was crunch time now, she had to find whoever was causing this madness and stop them. The stakes were getting higher every moment.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ginny Weasley's hands were shaking as she donned the blood red robe she'd taken from Helen's trunk. The fit wasn't quite right, as the robe had been tailored to a different body, but that would resolve itself soon.

Today was the day, the day she'd ascend to what she'd always wanted to be. Tom had promised her it would all work out, as long as she followed his every instruction to the letter. Tom had been helping her a lot over the year. He was the one who told her friendship with the Girl-Who-Lived wasn't enough, that she could get more, _be_ more. Why admire Helen Potter from the shadows when she could _be_ Helen Potter?

She could be the star Quidditch player for Gryffindor. She could have tons of friends, even ones from Slytherin. She could be beautiful, and graceful with perfect hair and impossibly smooth skin. She could be famous for destroying You-Know-Who and bear a lightning shaped scar that only added to her appearance to prove it. All she had to do was follow every command Tom gave her.

Ginny opened her trunk lid, and gazed at her most prized possessions taped under a false top. Six photos of Helen stared back at her, three magical and three not. She was smiling and thinking deeply while looking toward the horizon. She was flying on her fancy broom and laughing with her friends. She was reading with a look of utmost concentration on her face and painting her nails with quick precision. Ginny gazed at her own ragged nail beds with a grimace. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to put up with them much longer. There were two more photos she'd gotten from Colin, but they'd been absorbed by the diary. Even Tom, who always seemed so old and wise and above it all, couldn't help but gaze upon her beauty.

In the middle of her circle of photos was a lock of black hair, a perfect curl that Ginny had clipped from Helen's head after she had returned from running around somewhere with her brother Ron (stupid Ron who got to be Helen's best friend instead of her). Ginny removed the lock carefully, and slipped it into her pocket. She grabbed the flask of Polyjuice Potion, which she had brewed under Tom's careful direction in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and finally the diary.

Ginny snuck from the Gryffindor dorms. It wasn't that hard, no one ever noticed her. She was just one more Weasley to them. She grabbed her red paint from where it was stashed behind a suit of armor, and wrote her own obituary below the message that started it all, the one she didn't really remember writing, but Tom assured her she did.

" _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_."

Ginny followed the well-worn path to the Chamber of Secrets after that under Tom's direction, making sure to get red paint on her shoes and letting that create a trail to the entrance in case Helen never figured it's location out. He'd told her that Helen would come down to save her, and Ginny believed him. That's what noble, heroic, compassionate Helen Potter would do.

Ginny let the Parseltongue words slip through her lips as Tom orchestrated the right sounds. This was okay, good even. Helen was a Parselmouth, this only made them more similar. She slid through the pipes, and walked into the Chamber proper, waiting for everything to come to ahead. She started to feel strangely weak and tired, sort of dizzy.

"Tom, when do I take the Polyjuice? When do I become Helen Potter?" she asked. The answer she received, for the first time ever, came from outside her head and echoed in the empty room. Ginny fell to her knees, vision darkening with every passing second.

"Oh please, you silly little fool. You are no Helen Potter."

The last thing Ginny saw before falling into the black was a pair of brilliant dark eyes and a malicious smirk.

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen was seriously considering if saving Ginny was actually worth it. Between the disgusting pipe ride, Lockhart trying to erase her and Ron's memories with Ron's messed up wand (and failing, like he did with everything else), and the cave in, she was pretty sure the Universe was actively discouraging her from pursuing this course of action. And who was she to argue with the Universe?

Unfortunately, Helen liked the Weasley's and the Weasley's liked Ginny (for some reason she wasn't sure of) so she'd save her. If nothing else, this should go a long way to clearing her name and maybe even a chance to punch the Heir of Slytherin in the face. Gotta think positive.

Helen finally got through the last password-protected door, and was met with a large empty Chamber being presided over by a huge statue of an unattractive bearded wizard. Helen was pretty sure it was supposed to be Salazar Slytherin himself. At the foot of his statue laid a small body, pale with fiery red hair splayed about and wearing… Helen's favorite red robe?

"You know, you make it really hard to want to save you," Helen grumbled, picking up the pace to see if she was alive.

"I assure you, this is the least annoying she's been in months," came a smooth voice from the shadows. In a flash Helen had her wand out and pointed to where she'd heard the voice, her ADHD flaring like it always seemed to do in these types of situations. Her eyes were everywhere, looking for threats, for escape routes, for weapons she could use if she loses her wand.

"And who are you, exactly?" Helen questioned as a figure stepped into the dim lighting of the Chamber. He was incredibly handsome in a way that just reeked of aristocracy. He had dark eyes, sharp features, and perfectly parted hair that had a wave to it. He looked to be about sixteen-years-old, was wearing a Slytherin uniform, and was twirling a wand in his hands in feigned disinterest. Helen knew it was feigned because his eyes were practically burning as they drank in her visage. Helen discerned in that moment, as she sometimes did, that this handsome boy had never and would never be able to love anyone or anything. Not even himself.

There was something wrong with the boy, as he seemed… fuzzy around the edges, not quite defined or corporeal. Helen also felt an odd sort of pull to him, like she should step closer, be closer to him. Helen held her ground against the feeling.

"I could be a friend if you let me, an ally," he stated, eyes zeroing in on her scar.

"I was thinking more along the lines of your name," she specified. She'd never seen this boy before, not at the Slytherin table, or their Common Room, or in the hallways.

"Of course, how rude of me. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, Miss Potter," he offered, wand still twirling. It wasn't a threatening posture, but Helen could easily see how that wand could be in an attack position in seconds if Tom Riddle so chose. Helen decided not to lower hers.

"Well, you seem to know who I am. Let me guess, you're the Heir of Slytherin?" Helen asked, already anticipating the answer. Tom chuckled a bit before his eyes strayed over to Ginny's prone form.

"Yes, and no. While I am the last descendent of Salazar Slytherin, I'm not the one who's been terrorizing the halls of Hogwarts this year. That's been Ginny," he said, tipping his head in her direction. Helen raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Are you trying to tell me that the one who's been systematically attacking students this year is that tiny First Year over there that's too shy to even talk to me?" Helen questioned in disbelief. Tom cracked a smile, and Helen felt a shiver go down her spine. He should smile less; it felt wrong.

"I know, it does sound farfetched. Really, she hasn't quite been… aware of what she's been doing, at least not her part in the attacks. She was more-or-less conscious when she collected photos of you, brewed Polyjuice under my instruction, stole a lock of your hair and that robe she's in, and even when she wrote her own farewell and marched down here to wait for you. Truly, you shouldn't pity the stupid creature, she did it to herself," he explained, shrugging nonchalantly. He was beginning to become more real and less fuzzy. Helen was pretty sure this was a bad thing.

"You're the one who orchestrated the attacks, though? You used her to do it? Like some kind of puppet _. Who are you_?" Helen demanded, starting to get nervous, and not just because it sounded like Ginny was trying to _become_ her with Polyjuice Potion. That is a nightmare she'd confront later.

"You aren't one to become distracted, are you? Very well, I'm a memory- stuck in that diary for sixty years, but I'm soon to be much more than that. You see, as Ginny Weasley grows weaker, I grow stronger. She poured her heart out to me, telling me all about her older brothers that were _so mean to her_ , how they _teased her_ and she was afraid no one would like her. She moaned about how beautiful and perfect Helen Potter was, and how she'd never be able to be friends with her. She poured so much into me that eventually, I was able to pour a little of myself back into her," Tom explained. Helen felt sick.

"You're drinking her life force, aren't you? Bringing yourself out of the diary by latching on to her."

"Very good, Miss Potter. You are as clever as Ginny always said you were. You must understand, I did encourage her obsession a bit. I was just so curious about you. How could a child, a one-year-old girl, defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of all time? How did you, Helen Potter, walk away with nothing but a scar, when Lord Voldemorts powers were broken?"

A maniac gleam had entered his dark eyes, and Helen was starting to get a sinking suspicion of just how bad her situation was.

"Why do you care? If you've been in that book for sixty years, Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort is my past, present, and future," Tom stated seriously. He moved his wand through the air, writing his name out in magical fire and then swishing the wand he was holding so the letters rearranged to read 'I am Lord Voldemort.'

"I hope you realize that you get really ugly in the future. Like, stuck to the back of some idiots head, rotting and noseless ugly," Helen informed him cheekily, not being able to help herself now that she knew she was dealing with the man who'd tried to kill her several times. Tom scowled in displeasure.

"There are rituals that can grant unimaginable magical power, if one is willing to take the side effects. What worth is a pretty face, compared to such power?" Tom asked rhetorically.

"You'd be surprised. Beauty is a power in it's own right. I bet you recruited a lot more to your side when you looked like this than when you look like modern you," Helen pointed out, not willing to let the power of beauty be stepped on like that. Tom sent her a surprisingly soft smile. Helen noticed she'd been stepping closer, pulled by that unexplained force. She dug her feet into the floor.

"You may be right, Miss Potter. Thinking like that is why I've decided to make you an offer. Join me; we can walk out of this Chamber together, disguised by the Polyjuice Ginny so lovingly made for us. You can take her face, and I'll take that of her brother after I kill him. We can walk right out of this blasted school and make plans. You can revenge yourself on anyone who has ever wronged you. With your beauty and strategy, and my magical power and leadership we can do anything, be anything. We can push the boundaries of magic farther than any before us.

"We're quite alike Helen. Both orphans, probably some of the only Parselmouths to walk these halls since Salazar Slytherin himself, both ruthless when the situation calls for it. I've heard you've gotten close to the Slytherins in your year? It makes me wonder if you were ever much of a Gryffindor. We even look somewhat alike. Why shouldn't two similar people work together? Like calls to like and all that," Tom pitched. Helen would admit that he was a lot more convincing than he'd been in the Death Corridor last year, and it made her wonder if his sanity had degenerated as he grew older. Still, he was missing a hugely obvious point in all this.

"That's great and all, but I think you've forgotten exactly who orphaned me in the first place. If there was anyone I'd like to 'revenge myself upon' it would be you!" she barked, letting the anger she'd been keeping at bay flood forward. She cast a quick Disarming Charm his way, but he sidestepped it easily, and returned fire with a spell she'd never seen before. It cramped her hand and forced her to drop her wand, which he summoned to himself. Well, there goes any hope for a duel.

"Pity. We could have been great together. But maybe it's better this way. I've never been one to share power, you would've had to die eventually, I think. No matter, would you like a demonstration of the true power of Salazar Slytherin and his descendants, Helen Potter? _Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_."

The mouth of the ugly statue opened, and a low rumbling hiss echoed through the Chamber. Helen was quick to avert her eyes, knowing the gaze of a basilisk to be deadly.

" _Kill the girl_ ," Tom demanded. He really didn't take rejection well.

Helen knew she was at a distinct disadvantage, knew she couldn't fight an enemy she couldn't see, and although it galled her, she forced herself to retreat, running behind one of the many stone pillars in the Chamber. Helen could hear the scratch of scales on stone headed her way, and she ducked and sprinted to another pillar just as a loud 'hiss' and a 'thunk' indicated the basilisk had lunged for her and missed.

Helen grit her teeth, wishing more than anything she could _see_ the stupid over sized snake. Her wish was granted when a hauntingly beautiful melody filled the Chamber, accompanied by the fire-bright form of Headmaster Dumbledore's phoenix: Fawkes. The phoenix deposited the Sorting Hat of all things at her feet, and then attacked the basilisk, clawing its eyes out while Tom Riddle screamed in rage and hurled vicious spells at the bird.

"Don't think that blasted bird has saved the day. My basilisk can still smell you," he warned spitefully. " _Smell her. Kill her! Ignore the bird, get the girl!_ "

Helen was frantically shaking the stupid hat, trying to figure out anyway it could help her out of this situation when a metallic thud echoed through the Chamber. Inexplicably, a long golden sword had fallen from the hat. It was incrusted with sparkling rubies at the hilt and the word 'Gryffindor' was embossed across the glittering blade. Helen felt a small tug at her lips. Now she could fight.

Helen sprinted out from behind the pillar and got her first good look at the basilisk- or rather, drakon. It was shockingly long, nearly sixty feet, with poisonous fangs as long as her forearm and bleeding holes where she was sure the eyes used to be. It reared back, hissing its intention to eat her for all to hear, and then struck. Helen dodged the lunge, swinging the golden sword down on its flat nose. It made an incredibly superficial cut, causing nearly no damage but definitely enraging the snake further.

It turned quickly, lunging again, trying to bite her or eat her. Helen had to physically roll out of the way, and didn't even have time to swing her sword at the stupid thing. Then it decided to become even more monstrous as it opened its wide maw, inhaled, and then released a gout of flame headed straight for her. The drakon could _breath fire_. She remembered Ollivander's words, about how basilisks were technically drakons, and drakons were technically dragons but she had assumed that the ability to breath fire had gotten lost in translation somewhere. It certainly wasn't part of the description that Hermione had ripped out of the creature textbook. Leave it to wizards to overlook something so freaking important!

Helen managed to dodge the flames, but it was a close call, and her uniform robe was smoking. Riddle, the prick, thought the whole thing was amusing and was chuckling merrily as he watched her.

Helen knew she was going to need a plan soon. She couldn't dodge forever and all the swipes she made to the drakon's hide were ineffectual. It wasn't until the drakon opened wide to shoot more flame at her that she got an idea. The inside of the great snakes mouth was light pink and fleshy: vulnerable. She was going to have to stab it in the roof of the mouth. Easier said then done, but at least she had a goal now. Helen stepped right in front of the monster.

 _"Oi! Ugly! You going to continue shooting fire like a coward or are you going to attack me like a real beast? It'll be hard to eat me if I'm incinerated,_ " she taunted, bracing herself for the next attack. She had one shot at this.

The snake reared back, and then struck. Helen kept the sword in front of her until the last second where she stabbed up with all her strength. Pain exploded in her forearm as she yanked the sword out, taking a fang with her. The snake thrashed about, letting out sounds of anguish that almost made Helen pity it. Almost. The drakon collapsed to the floor with an all mighty thud, and laid still. Helen turned her head over to where Tom Riddle stood, looking torn between incandescent rage and smug accomplishment.

"You may have killed my basilisk, Potter, but it hasn't done anyone much good. The venom is spreading through your bloodstream now, and you'll be dead in minutes. Ginny is nearly lifeless, and I'll finally be free, all in a few short moments. You lose, Helen Potter. You set yourself against the might of Lord Voldemort and fell, as we always knew you would," he bragged. Helen thought he had an awful high opinion for a guy who didn't even participate in that fight.

Helen could feel an incredible burning spreading from the point where the fang was still lodged in her arm, and weakness was fast conquering her limbs. She dropped the heavy golden sword that had nearly saved her life, and fell to her knees, breathing harshly. Ugh, dying hurts! Her only regret was that she wasn't going to take Tom with her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the little black book that had started it all. The instrument Tom had used to control Ginny, to feed her obsession, to steal her life force. Helen felt her eyes narrow. Maybe she could still take Tom down after all.

She crawled to the diary, trying not to think about how undignified and pathetic she must have looked doing that. She wrapped her left hand around the fang in her right arm, and yanked it out with a grimace of pain. The fire had spread all the way up her arm now, and she didn't want to think about what would happen when it reached her heart. Helen looked up, wanting Tom to understand what she was doing at the very last second. Vivid green met widening dark eyes, and she shoved the fang into the diary with all the strength left in her. Riddle made to stop her, but was too late. He screeched in agony as ink flowed out of the diary like blood. He became blurry once more, clutching his face in torment as he gave one more cry of pain before exploding into brilliant golden light and disappearing.

Helen let a smirk curl her lips before she collapsed to the cold Chamber floor. She could hear Ginny gasping frantically in the background, but hoped she stayed down for a few more minutes. Helen wanted to die in peace. She stared up at the ceiling of the Chamber of Secrets, and wondered if there was an afterlife. Would she see her parents again? She hoped so; Helen had always wanted a family.

The fluttering of red feathers grabbed her rapidly weakening attention. Fawkes had returned, and he was crying. Helen didn't know a bird could cry. Helen's rambling thoughts began to clear, and she realized exactly what the crying was accomplishing. The burning was starting to dim, her skin was closing up into a circular scar, and she was healing. Helen felt a genuine smile spread across her lips.

"Phoenixes are _so cool_."

Fawkes chirped his agreement.

A minute later, and Helen was on her feet again. She gathered the sword first, which seemed to sense it wasn't needed anymore, because it started to shrink in her hand. Soon she was holding a beautiful gold and ruby hairclip shaped like a rose. Helen shrugged and slipped it into her hair. It was rather pretty, and so much easier to carry this way. She gathered the Sorting Hat next, and it seemed to remember it could talk, because it started chatting as soon as Helen touched it.

"I've been holding on to that sword for a very long time, Helen Potter. Godric told me to give it to someone worthy when the time was right. I've met no worthier owner than you in all my years of searching. It is a great weapon; do it justice," he commanded softly. Helen nodded, taking the hat's words seriously. She had to wonder when she'd need a gold sword in the future, but she figured it might come in handy threatening the Dursleys if nothing else. The hat was silent for a moment, before speaking again, almost like an after thought. "If Albus asks, I took it back, understand?" he questioned. Helen nodded easily. It wasn't his sword after all. According to the Hat it was Godric Gryffindor's and now hers. She could fib a bit; it was really none of the Headmaster's business.

By the time Helen got to Ginny after rescuing their wands and picking up the diary, she was a sniveling wreck of apologies on the floor. Helen didn't want to deal with her. She'd concede that a lot of her behavior was probably due to Tom's influence, possession, and coercion, but she was the one to talk to the creepy megalomaniacal diary and Tom had mentioned that she was at least somewhat aware of some of her 'become Helen' actions, which Helen was starting to realize was probably a ploy to get Ginny to brew Polyjuice Potion so he could walk out of the Chamber unimpeded. Be that as it may, Helen could only feel so much pity for the girl, and she certainly didn't want to spend time with her. Helen reached down, grabbed Ginny's upper arm in a tight grip, and drug her out of the Chamber while Fawkes swooped and sung around them.

They met up with Ron and an amnesiac Lockhart, and Helen learned another reason phoenixes were awesome: they could teleport using fire. One wash of warmth later, and they were all in the newly returned Professor Dumbledore's office with the sobbing Weasley family and Professors Snape and McGonagall- Dumbledore's entourage.

Helen chucked the damaged diary on the Headmaster's desk and started the very long story of what happened in the Chamber, leaving nothing out. This meant the whole Weasley family got to hear about how their daughter was an obsessive stalker who conspired to steal Helen's identity all year, brewed illegal Polyjuice Potion, stole stuff, _cut her hair_ (that bitch),and terrorized the school in general. She explained Tom's role in all that, which seemed to cushion the blow a bit, but she made sure to mention what Tom told her about Ginny being aware of the stalker stuff. Ginny didn't add anything to the story; she just stood in her mother's arms and sobbed. When Helen got to the part with the Sword of Gryffindor, she made sure to mention that the hat took it back and kept the back of her head where the clip rested out of Dumbledore's sight. No need to foster any associations in his mind if she was going to wear it on a day-to-day basis.

When she was done, Dumbledore sent the Weasley's off to the Hospital Wing for a check up and Helen was left with the teachers. She had one question on her mind.

"Are you seriously not going to punish her? She tried to _become me_. She stole stuff, she terrorized the school, she unleashed a basilisk on muggleborns, _she_ _cut my hair!_ Does that not warrant suspension, at least? Expulsion?" Helen gazed down at her hair where it was flowing over her shoulder. "Execution?"

Dumbledore chuckled a bit at the last suggestion, sensing she wasn't truly serious.

"Don't you think she has suffered enough, Helen? She nearly died tonight, and has been used as a possessed instrument of Lord Voldemort for most of the year," he reminded her. Helen wasn't completely sold.

"I understand that, but you've got to admit she kind of did some of that to herself, talking with strange magical objects and stuff. I know for a fact Mr. Weasley has warned all his kids against that. Heck, he even warned me about it this summer," Helen argued. She could see Snape nodding in agreement out of the corner of her eye, but Dumbledore just shook his head.

"Greater wizards than Ginevra Weasley have been taken in by Tom Riddle's charms. I fear the poor girl never had a chance. No, Helen. We will give Miss Weasley forgiveness and mercy and you may find a great friend in Ginny Weasley one day."

Helen had to pinch her lips shut with extreme force. She had a feeling that screaming 'like hell I will' at the Headmaster wouldn't get her very far.

Dumbledore dismissed her after awarding Helen one hundred points for Gryffindor, and Helen went stomping through the halls, feeling somehow cheated. She passed Lucius Malfoy, who had the house-elf that stole her mail quivering at his feet. She was too tired and irritated for polite greetings or to inform him that his house-elf was barmy, so she swept pass with a barely polite nod. She made a beeline for the Hospital Wing, and felt some of her spite melt away when she saw Hermione flexing her fingers and rolling her shoulders. The Restoration Draught had been administered while she and Ron were in the Chamber, and all the petrified were coming back to themselves.

Helen all but threw herself at Hermione's revitalized form. She thanked her profusely for discovering the creature was a basilisk, and regaled her with what happened in the Chamber in hushed whispers. Hermione was equally horrified by Ginny's role in everything, and thought Helen was right to want some form of punishment handed down. Helen was glad to know it wasn't just her natural born aggression suggesting it.

Colin was babbling a mile a minute at Madam Pomfrey, while Justin Finch-Fletchley kept shooting Helen grateful and apologetic looks alternatively. Penelope Clearwater was cuddled up with Percy Weasley of all people. Helen had always sensed some sort of vibe between the two, but she'd never thought about it too much. Apparently, they were dating, or at the very least liked each other. Filch was cooing over his precious cat, so maybe he'd back off his campaign of terror against students he'd been invested in this year. The rest of the Weasley's were sequestered in the back behind a curtain. Madam Pomfrey didn't want her patients face-to-face with their attacker so soon, even if said attacker hadn't been very aware of what she was doing. Helen thought this was very wise.

The rest of the year went quickly. Finals were cancelled in honor of the demise of Slytherin's monster, and Helen learned it was possible to flirt and win at Quidditch at the same time when she played against Cedric in the final match of the year, securing the Cup for Gryffindor for the second time. Cedric took the loss gracefully, and it just made Helen like him even more. The only thing to please her more after that was Hagrid's return from Azkaban and his full pardon for what happened sixty years ago.

All of the Weasley kids apologized for Ginny in an awkward manner, trying to be sorry without incriminating their sister or choosing sides. Helen waved it all away. They had nothing to be sorry for, and it wasn't going to change her relationship with any of them. She was just going to avoid Ginny at all costs and that would be that. Ron seemed especially relieved that Helen wasn't mad at him. Hermione told Helen later that Ron had confided in her that he thought Helen was going to end their friendship and never talk to any of them ever again because of what Ginny did.

The relationship that did change, however, was that between Helen and Professor Snape. At the end of their last class of the semester, he asked Helen to stay behind. Draco, who had been her partner, gave her a worried look but Helen just shrugged. She had no idea what she did to earn his ire on the last day. When the last student left the room, Helen ambled up to Snape's desk and gave him the universal 'so-why-am-I-here?' look.

"I have been meaning to talk to you since the Headmaster's decision in regards to Miss Weasley's punishment," Snape started, taking Helen aback. She really hadn't expected this conversation. "While I have no authority to suspend or expel her, I find her continued presence at this school and what it could mean… displeasing."

Helen vaguely wondered if teachers were allowed to talk about students with other students like this, but she honestly didn't care. It was nice to know someone in that office had agreed with her.

"In light of that," he continued, "I've decided you may benefit from this book for next year. Read it over the summer, and if you have any questions about casting, ask me when you return next semester."

Snape handed a medium sized book to her. It looked rather new compared to a lot of the books you find at Hogwarts, with a still glossy cover that read _Basic Warding: How to Sleep Safely at Night._ Helen flipped through it quickly, seeing wards to protect beds, rooms, trunks, boxes, and tons of other things. She gave her Potions Professor a sincere smile, touched by his concern for her safety in the face of a stalker that stayed in the same tower as her.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," she said softly, meaning every word. The tiniest smile imaginable curled his lips.

"You're welcome, Miss Potter. It is my job to protect my Slytherin's after all. Even the ones who outmaneuvered the Sorting Hat," he said.

Helen's eyes flew toward his face from the book, and she saw the knowing glint in his eyes that she'd seen in Theo's all those weeks ago. It wasn't until she was aboard the Hogwarts Express the next day that she realized he had met her eyes for their entire conversation.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _I'm sorry! I don't know how this chapter ended up being so long! It was literally meant to be half as many words as it is, and then when I went back to edit it, I couldn't stand to throw half of it out. Characters just continued to spit in canons face, and it made it difficult to skim over things. I thought about splitting it into two chapters instead of having this awkwardly long one in the story, but I promised the first three years would be a chapter each, and I intend to keep that promise. The Prisoner of Azkaban won't be nearly as long as a rehash chapter, I hope._

 _So, St. Anthony's as Hogwarts false front: I always figured Hogwarts would need some sort of official name when muggle raised students disappeared to Scotland each year. There needs to be an organized lie. Fun fact: St. Anthony was the patron saint of swine (get it?_ _ **Hog**_ _warts?)._

 _Helen and the word Mudblood: Ares practically invented the taunt. His reaction to taunts was a little inconsistent in PJatO, but generally they didn't bother him too much unless a particular sore spot was hit, and I intend Helen to be the same way. She doesn't put much value in name-calling and doesn't understand why other people do, she's been called names all her life. She's over it and that's why she doesn't jump to Hermione's defense. Eventually, we will see Helen taunted beyond her limits and it's going to be ugly._

 _Ginny: I swear I'm not trying to bash. I wanted a character to take a darker turn and Ginny was there. Her obsession with Helen was disturbing and unhealthy on it's own, however, she never would have gone as far as she did without Tom's coercion and eventual possession. She is a victim, but she does deserve some blame for what happened and Helen isn't the super forgiving sort (especially when you mess with her hair)._

 _Language: You may have noticed there was more cursing in this chapter: get used to it. I wanted Helen's poor language to develop naturally with her age. At eleven she barely cursed at all, at twelve she did it when stressed, and the words will get worse and more frequent as she gets older. She's a child of Ares, what can I say? This story is T for a reason._

 _Tom Riddle can't love: I've always found this an interesting idea. If you think about it, he must not have even loved himself, considering all the damage he does to himself- mutilating his own soul and heading a campaign against people like him: half-bloods (even hating his muggle father, there's still an element of self-hate there as well). I'm not even sure you could say he loved power; lust after it might be a better term, or obsession._

 _Gryffindor's Sword: I won't say too much now, but yes: Gryffindor was a demigod. A Roman demigod, actually, hence the Imperial Gold sword. It's going to raise eyebrows when Helen gets to camp._

 _Finally, timing: Tom said he's been in the diary for sixty years in this story and he has. The timelines have been adjusted but it's not significant until chapter five, so that's when I'll break it down for everyone._

 _Thanks for reading this extremely long chapter and subsequent extremely long author's note. I hope you enjoyed it!_


	4. Werewolves, Dementors, and Grims, Oh My!

Helen stared down at the pitiful house-elf, hip cocked and arms crossed over her chest. Her penetrating stare was obviously making the little creature uncomfortable, but that's exactly the effect she was hoping for, so she held the pose for another solid minute before exhaling in a rush.

"So let me get this straight. You were the one who blocked the entrance to the platform last summer?"

"Yes, Helen Potter," Dobby the house-elf squeaked, the very picture of remorse.

"And you're the one who charmed the Bludger to try and kill me?"

"Not kill you! Never kill you! Dobby just wanted Helen Potter to go home. Dobby thought if Helen Potter was injured, she might go home," the elf implored, eyes shining with tears at the very idea of her death.

"And you somehow knew there would be danger at Hogwarts? Knew about the basilisk?" Helen questioned, starting to piece the events of this past year together a little more clearly. Dobby was a Malfoy elf, and if he knew, than that could mean the Malfoy's were the ones to give Ginny the diary.

"Dobby is being aware of the possibility. Dobby is knowing there to be Dark magic at Hogwarts doing Dark things, but Dobby is… not knowing if it was to be as bad as it was. Dobby was just wanting brave Helen Potter to be safe!" Helen thought over his words. It seemed unlikely that Lucius Malfoy would put his only son and heir in danger; and unleashing a drakon on the populous counts as severe danger, even for the Purebloods. Such a beast can be commanded, but is never tame. Helen wanted to confront Lucius about this directly, but was rather unsure of the next time she'd be face-to-face with the man.

"Ah, Dobby has said too much! Dobby is a bad elf! A disloyal elf! Dobby only wanted to explain hisself to brave, beautiful Helen Potter," Dobby was starting to sob, and was obviously searching for something to bash his head in with. Helen needed to put a stop to that; she had no idea how to comfort a distraught elf.

"And I appreciate that Dobby, truly. It's a relief to know who set that Bludger on me, and what happened at the platform. Now I don't have to worry about it anymore. Thank you," Helen said quickly, hoping to avoid a total meltdown. Dobby moaned in anguish.

"Helen Potter is too good, too forgiving to Dobby," he cried. Helen sighed. This was going to take awhile.

After Dobby had finished crying and praised her for her 'goodness' about a dozen times over, he bowed low and popped away to go serve the Malfoys. Helen felt a lot of pity for the poor creature and it's brethren. A life of servitude; she knew what that was like, and it sucked.

Helen collapsed back on her rickety old bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive. Her previously barred window was open wide to try and get some air flowing into the stuffy room, and Helen was wearing a t-shirt and the only pair of jean shorts she owned trying to combat the heat.

Neither article of clothing fit well, since Helen had been going through some physical changes that summer. The repulsive state of puberty had hit her full force over the past month, and it seemed to enrage her aunt for some reason, who had chucked a box of tampons at her head and told her not to get pregnant. Helen made her anger at such treatment known by throwing a red shirt of Dudley's in with Petunia's white laundry to be washed, ruining the whole batch. Some battles were won by confrontation, but others only required a bit of passive aggressive subtlety… maybe she _had_ spent too much time with the Slytherins last term.

This summer was about as miserable as could be expected. The Dursleys were less than pleased by Helen's spectacular exit last year, and made their displeasure known. They were too nervous about other wizards in flying cars stopping by to lock her in all day like last year, but they always made sure to lock her up at night. Helen was almost proud of their caution: they acted as if she'd slit their throats while they slept if they didn't lock her up and it pleased her to know she could inspire that kind of fear. It also annoyed her because she'd never once physically hurt her aunt or uncle, and Dudley only received whatever he dished out to Helen first. She wasn't some violent sociopath. Probably.

Her chores list was longer than ever, but the extra work had earned her the right to keep her school trunk in her room. Helen needed it to finish her summer homework and work on the warding book Snape had loaned her at the end of the year. She was completely fascinated by it, warding was seriously cool magic, and she was getting all types of ideas on how to defend her stuff at school. She was particularly interested in a shock ward that would electrify anyone who tried to open her trunk without a key phrase, but she wanted it to be stronger. Instead of a painful buzz she wanted it to zap the infiltrator across the room. She'd have to ask Professor Snape about overpowering wards when the semester started.

In light of her newfound interest in warding, Helen had opted to take Ancient Runes for one of her elective classes. It was critical to have a basic understanding of runes to design your own wards, or to break someone else's down. Helen could appreciate that skill, it was imperative for defense and infiltration, should she ever need to break into a warded area.

Helen also opted for Care of Magical Creatures. She was excited about Care and ready to take it very seriously because she had a visceral need to understand what lived out there that could hurt her. In her first two years, she'd fought a troll, a drakon, and acromantulas. A phoenix and a group of centaurs had also saved her life. She really needed to understand what existed, if it was friend or foe, and how to destroy it either way. It was a lack of knowledge she couldn't abide by.

Ron had been rather upset about Helen's refusal to join him in Divination for 'an easy O' but Helen was unshakable. The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team from Oliver Wood to Katie Bell had warned her that Trelawney was barmy and not to take her class if she didn't want her death predicted every two minutes. Lavender and Parvati had also been upset when she wrote to them to tell them she wouldn't take the class. They were really looking forward to it; they wanted to know their future love life. Helen could appreciate such curiosity but she doubted they'd get anything nearly that constructive out of that class.

"Girl! Marge is here! Go open the door and take her stuff upstairs!" her uncle shouted. Helen rolled her eyes but rose to her feet.

Marge Dursley was a rotund woman with a mustache nearly as impressive as her brother's. She was hateful in the way that was typical of anyone named Dursley, and bred dogs for a living. Her nastiest one, Ripper, was also Marge's favorite and traveled with her everywhere. The only thing Helen and Aunt Petunia had ever agreed on was a mutual hate for that mutt. Helen because it tried to eat her when she was younger until she gave it a good kick that sent it over the garden fence, Petunia because animals in her pristine house were hated on principal.

Helen went to retrieve Marge's bags while she lathered affection and a twenty-pound note on Dudley. Such good behavior was required of Helen if she wanted to keep her trunk with her, but Helen had also agreed to 'keep all that freakishness away from Marge' in exchange for a signed note to visit Hogsmeade; the wizarding village that students Third Year and up got to visit with a permission slip. Helen's backup plan if good behavior failed was forgery, but her dyslexia made that a risky option. It was safer just to grab Marge's bag and make sure she never got a look into Helen's room where quills, spell books, and a live owl could be found. They probably all fell under her uncle's category of 'freakishness.'

"Oh, girl, you're still here. Not finished mooching off my brother's kindness?" Marge asked rudely, as if there was a reason an orphaned, almost-thirteen-year-old would have moved out by now.

"Not yet," Helen replied in a singsong tone. A certain amount of cheek was still permissible. Helen and Vernon never would have come to an agreement otherwise. Still, Helen opted not to push it, and escaped upstairs while Marge was turning red.

The rest of Marge's visit continued on in about the same vein as her arrival. Marge drowned Dudley in praise and money, treated Helen like a strange mix between a servant girl and a homeless person that had wandered in and stole her purse, and let her dog slobber and pee it's way through the house, nearly bringing Aunt Petunia to a nervous breakdown.

It was the last night of Marge's stay, and Helen was about to yank her hair out. If she had to hear the words 'burden,' 'wastrel,' or 'ungrateful' one more time, heads were going to roll. Helen had a generally high tolerance for all those words but hearing any words twenty-four hours a day in Marge's deep voice would send a better person than Helen around the bend.

"Vernon, what'd ya' say the girl's father did, again?" Marge asked, drunk and raring for a nice session of tearing Helen down. Helen eyed her uncle in warning. It had been a long week and Vernon should be smart enough to realize exactly how thin the ice of civility had gotten. 'Should be' was the key phrase, of course. She should have known better than to overestimate the Dursley's intelligence.

"Uh, he didn't work. He was unemployed," he returned, looking unsure. Helen felt her eye twitch. Wrong answer.

"Ah ha! Jus' as I e'pected. Prob'ly one of those no good lay-abouts livin' off the hard work of our taxpayers. A drunk too, I e'pect. That's what killed 'em, innit? Drivin' drunk?" Marge asked, her own speech deteriorating as she succumbed to all the booze she'd been pounding down, making her the largest hypocrite in the neighborhood.

"I'm sure you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Considering you're a barely functioning alcoholic," Helen hissed, getting up to leave. She was so close to the permission form, she just had to hold it together for a few more hours.

"Don' walk away from me, brat! You proud o' your parents? Of your wastrel father an' your whore mother? Oh yea, Petunia's told me all about how she'd spread her legs for-"

"Shut up!" Helen barked; well and truly sick of this woman, of this whole stupid family. She wasn't going to listen to a disgusting waste of space like Marge Dursley lie about the mother who'd sacrificed her life for Helen. She wasn't going to listen to the untrue prattle of the unattractive, unfulfilled sister of the Evans family. Helen Potter had well and truly reached her limit. She was going to storm off and vent some aggression outside, leaving her relatives to deal with Marge's ranting, and hope her moment of lost composure didn't cost her the Hogsmeade slip. At least, she was going to until Marge went to open her mouth and couldn't.

There was an odd silence where a nasty retort should have been. It was soon filled by the muffled screams of a woman who literally couldn't pry her lips apart. Marge Dursley had truly shut up, and the panic in her piggy eyes and aborted motions to her face showed she wasn't enjoying it.

"What did you do? Girl! _What did you do_? Fix her! Fix her now!" Vernon roared, trying to assist his sister, who was undulating in panic and nearly falling out of her chair. Helen couldn't help it; she really wasn't one to deny the simple pleasures in life. She laughed. Hard.

"I don't know what I did, but I wish I'd done it a week ago," she giggled. Marge was turning red now, not just in fear but anger. Vernon was far past red and sporting a puce face.

"Undo it, you freak! Now!" he yelled, standing up. Dudley was staring at the whole room wide-eyed as he tried to make sense of it all. Petunia was fluttering about, useless to change anything.

"I just said I don't know what I did. How am I supposed to undo it? I'll go send a letter to school, maybe they'll send someone," Helen offered, the humor starting to leak out of her. She really had no idea what she did, she was a little old for accidental magic and her wand was upstairs, safely tucked under a loose floorboard. She really hoped she wasn't about to get in trouble with the Ministry _again_.

"Not good enough! You did it, now undo it!" Vernon persisted, getting into Helen's face, spit flying from his mouth. Helen held her ground, not giving an inch. She wasn't going to cower to this walrus.

"I _just_ said I don't know what happened. It might not have been me. Maybe God is doing all of us a favor," Helen suggested icily. She was being honest, and she offered to help by contacting a fully trained witch or wizard, what more could she do?

Helen remembered the next seconds vividly. She was about to turn to go write that letter when Vernon lost it. He balled his right hand into a fist and swung, aiming straight for her face with a furious yell. Helen reacted faster than she could think. Her own hand came up lightning quick, caught the man's much larger fist, and held it there with a strength no thirteen-year-old girl should be able to posses.

Helen looked between the caught fist and Vernon's own disbelieving expression in dumbfounded shock. He'd tried to _hit her_. In twelve years at the Dursley's she'd been drug around, smacked over the head, knocked about with a wooden spoon, pushed, shoved, and physically thrown into her cupboard, but never once did Vernon actually try to punch her. It was the unspoken rule, the line in the sand between what he could get away with and too far. And now he'd gone _too far_. Helen's eyes blazed emerald fire, her most intimidating sneer creeping across her pretty face.  
"You're going to regret that."

She shoved his fist away, and he staggered, her unnatural strength still in effect. She didn't care; she had a man to destroy. A minute later Marge managed to pry her lips apart, whatever was gluing them shut having worn off. She hollered about mischievous brats and their damned pranks, but Helen didn't care about that either. She was pawing through the rickety old wardrobe in her room, trying to find just the right outfit. She was going to war: she'd need armor.

The next day, once Marge had left the house, Helen took to the streets of Little Whinging in the rattiest clothes she could get her hands on. The shirt was one of Dudley's old ones that she used only when gardening now. It was huge, stained, and ripped at one sleeve, and it served her purposes well. Her first stop was Mrs. Geering's of Number Eight. She'd circulated rumors on the Dursley's before, was an older woman and a skilled gossip. Helen knocked on her door, trying to look a little scared and very tired. It was hard when she had so much anger fueling her.

"Mrs. Geering, can I talk to you for a minute?" Helen asked, voice soft.

She'd been invited in, offered tea, and then got down to business. She told Mrs. Geering about how it was Dudley who had ruined her azalea bushes earlier that summer on Petunia's orders because they were nicer than hers. This was a completely true statement. The lie was that Helen just felt _so bad_ and couldn't take the guilt anymore of not telling her. Helen didn't care about the petty garden rivalry in this neighborhood. She cared about giving out as much damning Dursley information in as little time as possible.

Helen went to Number Ten next, and told them it was Dudley who had trashed their son's bike. She went to Number Three and told them it was Vernon who sideswiped their car three years ago, and didn't admit to it or pay for their repairs. She went to Number Seven and told them it was Petunia who had started the rumor they were getting divorced that embarrassed them so badly they couldn't attend the neighborhood barbeque that summer.

On and on she went, years of blackmail spewing forth. All of it was true, most of it was petty or inconsequential but to these suburbanites the information was as precious as gold. The Dursleys were horrid, selfish people that only maintained the thinnest veneer of upstanding members of the community, and she would see that veneer turned to dust if it killed her. Helen stirred up frustration and rivalry and turned it into anger and hate, the anger and hate she had carried around for years.

A little part of her wondered if she should feel guilty about what she was doing, if this plan was going too far, but Helen shut it down fast. She was only telling the truth, nothing more or less. She was revealing the Dursleys for what they were, the everyday monsters that everyone knows and has to put up with.

Vernon crossed the very last line with his aborted attack. She'd put up with a lot from them. She'd been a slave, Dudley's punching bag (which she'd tolerated because he was a stupid kid she could hit back, not an adult trusted with her care), and lived in a closet for ten years but she was not about to play victim to a middle-aged man's rage. Not when she could fight back. It would be disrespectful to all those who couldn't fight back and to herself.

Once she started getting things in motion, she focused on her exit strategy. She'd stick around long enough to see the fruits of her labor, but not to face the consequences. She ran through a mental list of people she could stay with. Hermione was in France with her parents, and the Weasley's were in Egypt- as Mr. Weasley had won some sort of Galleon Raffle, they could afford it.

Helen wasn't particularly inclined to stay with them anyway, so soon after the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. The thought of getting within ten feet of Ginny was distinctly distasteful. Padma and Parvati were visiting family in India again this summer and Lavender was at some sort of musical workshop in Dublin. This left her the Quidditch team and the Slytherins.

She knew most of the Quidditch team would help her out of a tight spot, but it could be a little awkward. The differences in age made it a little tricky to get close to them. Other than the Weasley twins, she was closest to Katie Bell, who was only a year ahead of her, and even Katie was closer to Alicia and Angelina than her.

Really, the answer was obvious and had been staring her in the face all along. Draco had offered to let her stay for awhile earlier that summer, Helen had some questions for Lucius Malfoy about exactly how the diary got into the school, and she was sure they lived in a manor with plenty of room for an extra teenager. She penned a quick note to Draco, being very careful to make it sound like she was taking him up on his offer and not seeking refuge. No need to seem desperate or vulnerable, or make Draco feel like she was using him to get away from her relatives (which she kind of was but he didn't need to know that).

Hedwig went soaring from her window, letter attached to her leg. Helen watched her go before she started piling all her stuff into her trunk so she'd be ready to leave at a moments notice. Clothes, quills, and books made their way in, along with Helen's stash from under the floorboards: food off the Hogwarts Express trolley in case of punishment by starvation, her Invisibility Cloak, and the photo album of the Potters Hagrid had given her at the end of First Year. Her birthday presents, received by owl a few days before and including a man-eating book from Hagrid that Helen had beat into submission with a cricket bat before belting closed, sat on top. Helen decided to keep her wand on her at all times from that point on.

The next morning, Helen started to see results. Number Three showed up at the front door with a bill in hand to cover the damages Vernon did to his car. The wife from Number Seven came to officially un-invite Petunia from her garden party next week. The husband from Number Ten came to inform them that his cousin was on the school board at Smeltings and he'd be submitting a recommendation to have Dudley placed on probation due to bullying behavior.

On it went, for three days the Dursley's were kicked out of every social function, bombarded with bills for repairs on things Dudley had destroyed and were the subjects of the nastiest rumors imaginable. Mrs. Geering was incensed enough about her garden that she let loose to anyone who would hear about Vernon being a drunk, Petunia a whore, and Dudley an ignorant savage child. Helen, of course, was the poor neglected niece who finally got over her fear of her heavy-handed uncle enough to spread the truth. Helen watched the complete destruction of that which the Dursleys treasured most, their reputation, and smiled.

It was Friday evening, and Helen was set to leave. She was to meet Draco and his father in Diagon Alley in an hour, and she was traveling on the Knight Bus, which Daphne had told her about last year. All that was left was to say 'bye' to her relatives. Helen stacked her trunk and Hedwig's cage just outside the front door, and entered the living room.

Her aunt was sniffling pathetically in a chair in the corner, face blotchy and swollen. She'd been crying on and off for the past three days straight, mortified beyond her limits as all her nightmares came true. Her uncle was shuffling papers on the coffee table; face as pale as she'd ever seen it. One of their more litigious neighbors was threatening a lawsuit because Dudley's gang had broken his son's wrist last summer. Dudley himself was watching the telly like the idiot he was, not realizing his parent's world was falling down around them and he'd eventually bare the brunt of some of their anger. After all, he had caused a lot of the damage the Dursley couple were coming under fire for, and his place at Smeltings was now in danger. They couldn't ignore that, no matter how oblivious they tended to be.

Helen walked into the living room with the smooth grace of a predator. She stood before her uncle as defiant as ever and waited until his eyes flickered up to her face.

"I told you you'd regret it."

She saw the moment of comprehension dawn on his face. The moron hadn't put the pieces together, too stressed to realize exactly who spilled their secrets through the neighborhood and why. He jumped to his feet, probably to enact some form of retribution, but Helen was already gliding out the front door, slamming it behind her definitively.

She trundled along the sidewalk with her trunk, headed for the end of the street to signal the Knight Bus when she heard a low growl reverberate through the still night air. Helen dropped her trunk and Hedwig's cage, head twisting around for the source of the sound, all of her senses on high alert. Her right hand went to her hair, where a rose-shaped clip that she rarely took off resided: the Sword of Gryffindor. She didn't think she'd need it again so soon, especially in the Muggle World, but she was very happy the Hat decided to give it to her now.

Red eyes peered out at her from the darkness between two houses and Helen yanked her clip out, transforming it into a long golden sword, which she held in front of her defensively. The biggest black dog she'd ever seen came prowling out of the shadows, demon eyes eerily focused on her, growling all the while. This wouldn't be the first time Helen had seen one of these dogs, but it was certainly the first time she'd been this close.

They stared each other down for a moment, red meeting emerald, before all the muscles in the monster canine coiled and the dog lunged straight for Helen's throat. Helen batted the animal away, clipping it with her sword and shoving its trajectory off enough to miss her. It regrouped easily, and faced her again, making another run at her. Helen slashed at its muzzle as she stumbled out of the reach of its snapping jaws.

Never one to be on the defensive too long, Helen took a stab at the creature, but it hopped out of the way at the last second. She pivoted, recovering, and slashed at its head once more. She did real damage this time, the dog jerked away with a pained whine before growling again, this time in anger. It lunged once more, and this time Helen lunged at the same time, her sword aimed straight for its heart, where it sliced right through. The weight of the dog pushed Helen back despite the injury, momentum carrying it forward into Helen, who was positive she was about to be crushed by its body when it suddenly burst into golden dust; leaving Helen sprawled on the pavement, hacking on the scent of sulfur but unharmed.

What the hell? Did the dog just _explode_? It had to be some sort of magical creature; that was the only explanation for the red eyes and the random explosion. Helen grabbed her fallen sword, took a look around to make sure there was nothing else that wanted to make a meal out of her, and then let it revert to its hair accessory form. She picked up her trunk and Hedwig's cage, and hurried to the corner, feeling paranoid and vulnerable out in the open at night. She held out her wand as Daphne told her too, and with a bang an obnoxiously purple triple-decker bus pulled up right in front of her.

Helen paid the bus conductor and fended off his nosy questions. She took a seat on the bottom floor and looked out the windows. Under a streetlamp across the road, another black dog was staring at her intently. It was smaller than the one that had attacked her, but still huge. The thing looked positively ragged and starved. Helen was glad to be getting out of Surrey; even the animals were mad.

XXXXXXXXXX

Malfoy Manor was a shrine to wealth, old world aristocracy, and the color white; Helen was convinced of this. Everything about the manor seemed to be pure white, from the grand exterior, to the peacocks roaming the grounds, to the Malfoys themselves- who were certainly a pale lot. If a bit of color was needed, it tended to be silver, green, black, gold or occasionally blue. Helen thought the place could use a splash of red, but seemed to be the only one of that opinion.

Draco was absolutely overjoyed that she was staying over. Their friendship had progressed to the point where he didn't feel the need to play it cool to impress her or anything, so he let his enthusiasm shine through. On her first day there he gave her a grand tour of the Manor, covering everything from their library- that seemed to rival the size of Hogwarts'- to the Quidditch pitch. _They had an actual Quidditch pitch on their property!_ Rich people.

Her rooms were in the guest wing, tastefully decorated in creams and dark woods. The mattress was the softest thing she had ever laid on, even softer than her four-poster at Hogwarts, which was kind of her standard for luxury. Her first day there, she mostly spent with Draco; playing Quidditch, eating, arguing about whether Goyle was technically literate or not. It wasn't until her second day at the Manor when Helen officially met Narcissa Malfoy, who had been visiting friends in France when she arrived. Helen and Narcissa got along like a house on fire.

She had entered the room Helen and Draco were talking in, all delicate features and fashionable robes. It wasn't Helen's taste exactly; she was planning on going toward a 'warrior princess' look the next time she went shopping, but there was no denying Narcissa's class or elegance. She'd greeted her son warmly, and Helen kindly if a little formally. They'd adjourned to the sunroom for tea, and Helen engaged in small talk, while desperately battling off her ADHD as it demanded she let her mind wander from the conversation until the topic of clothes came up.

"Helen, dear, I don't mean to be rude, but isn't that robe a bit… ill-fitting?" Narcissa asked gently, while eyeing Helen's exposed ankles. Helen winced. She was wearing one of the casual robes she bought during her first trip to Diagon, a blue one, and like the rest of her clothing, it didn't fit right.

"Uh, yeah. I really need to get back to the Alley, all my robes have gotten too short, including my uniform," Helen commented, with a grimace. Her shirts and pants becoming tight or short depending on the article of clothing went without saying.

"I should say so, a young lady such as yourself can't be running around in ill-fitting clothes, it isn't proper. Tomorrow we'll make a trip to Madam Malkins and rectify that," Narcissa commanded. She wasn't asking, but despite the pushiness, Helen wasn't going to turn the offer of a shopping spree down.

The next morning dawned bright and early, and Helen was bullied awake by a House-elf named Bobble. She met Narcissa in the foyer, and they Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. They headed over to Gringotts, retrieved some gold, and then got started. Narcissa liked her clothes the same way she liked her house: expensive, classy, and only in a limited range of colors. Helen had to put her foot down in order to get a lovely red robe with intricate black stitching. She'd been gunning for a replacement for her old red robe that Ginny had pilfered since she entered the shop.

Helen and Narcissa clashed a lot on that shopping trip. Where Narcissa liked tradition, Helen preferred modernity. Where Narcissa liked lace, Helen preferred leather. Where Narcissa liked class, Helen liked sass. Despite their variance in opinions, Helen was enjoying herself immensely. She'd never had an older woman in her life to admire and do girly things with, like shop. Helen wouldn't look up to Petunia if she was the last woman on earth.

By the time they'd finished with Madam Malkin's, Helen was the new owner of several new casual robes including the red one, a fancier set for formal occasions that Narcissa had insisted on, flowing tops, vests, trousers, a skirt, three new Hogwarts uniforms, a few dresses and a glorious pair of dragon-hide boots that Narcissa abhorred but Helen loved. The highlight of the day had to be Helen tricking Narcissa into the Muggle World for a bit of shopping. Helen was quick as Narcissa looked ready to faint when she stood stiffly in a department store, robe thrown over her arm like a coat leaving her in a dress that, while old fashioned in design, was acceptable by muggle standards. Helen had gotten a few outfits and versatile pieces at the muggle store, but the one she loved most was a feminine leather jacket that made her feel like she could crush her enemies under her heel when she wore it.

By the time the pair arrived back at Malfoy Manor, they were tired but feeling quite accomplished. Helen had basically remade her wardrobe, and Narcissa had braved the Muggle World with only a slight break down. They adjourned to Helen's rooms to organize their purchases and enjoy a tea service provided by Dobby.

XXXXXXXXXX

Draco was feeling rather petulant that his mother had stolen his houseguest away. It was greatly tempered by the fact that he wasn't required to join them (his mother tended to be a little overbearing when shopping) but still, the Manor could be quite boring without company. That was why he was headed toward Helen's rooms, hoping to strike up a conversation.

As he neared the door, he heard the muffled voices of Helen and his mother, and in a bout of mischievousness, decided to eavesdrop. He was curious about how they were getting along. While he enjoyed Helen's fiery nature tempered by Slytherin cunning, he wasn't sure his traditional and proper Slytherin mother would appreciate it. He crouched with his ear against the keyhole.

"All I'm saying, Narcissa, is that it's cliché," Helen's voice echoed through the door, as strong and lovely as ever.

"Please, dear, call me Cissa," Draco's mother offered graciously. "And I just don't see what's cliché about it."

"Come on, Cissa. A woman poisoning her rivals? It's so… expected. There's this pervasive idea that the only way a woman can kill is through trickery. It's cliché," Helen insisted. Draco felt his eyes widening in surprise. _What_ were they talking about?

"It's pervasive because it works," his mother insisted. "It's a tried and true method of assassination. Women have been poisoning their husbands and getting away with it for millennia. If I ever had to… dispose of Lucius, I'd poison him."

Draco was more-or-less horrified at this point, but couldn't bear to rip his ear away. Was this a normal conversation? When Pansy whisked Millicent and Daphne off for 'girl talk' were they discussing the pros and cons of different murder methods? When they went to the bathroom in packs was it to discuss the finer points of assassination?

"And it would be obvious that you were the one to kill him, hence the cliché," Helen countered.

"That's only assuming anyone even thought he'd been murdered. If I did it right no one would believe it to be homicide. They'd think he had a premature heart attack and I'd get away with it," Narcissa pointed out.

"Maybe you would, but you'd still be a living cliché… and a coward," Helen added, almost as an afterthought.

"Don't recite Gryffindor rhetoric to me, Helen, it doesn't suit you," Narcissa chastised gently.

"The Sorting Hat would disagree," Helen dismissed.

"Well, brave lion, how would you assassinate someone then?" Narcissa asked, a challenge in her voice.

"Something direct. A cutting curse, maybe, or a good old fashioned stabbing. I'd look my victim in the eyes. And no one would believe it was me because, as a woman, they would be expecting poison," Helen answered with plenty of snark.

Draco had had enough at that point, and scurried down the hallway, leaving the women who he'd never be able to look at the same way again behind him. He needed a cup of soothing tea… and a place to hide from his mother and houseguest, possibly for the rest of the summer.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Is he gone?" Helen whispered, leaning close to Narcissa conspiratorially. The older witch waved her wand at the door, and when nothing happened, smiled in satisfaction.

"Yes, it appears so," she said, a delicate smile creeping across her face. Helen giggled.

"I wish I could have seen his face," she laughed outright, imagining Draco's mortified expression.

"Well, it serves him right for eavesdropping. I know I raised him better than that," Narcissa tsked. Helen snorted at that.

"Considering what you told me today, it's more likely you raised him to be aware of eavesdropping charms then to just not eavesdrop," she postulated. Narcissa gave her a sly smile.

"Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin."

XXXXXXXXXX

Draco was sprawled across his bed, Helen beside him, two weeks into her stay at the manor. Hogwarts was set to start in a week, and they'd be going to Diagon Alley the next day for school supplies. They had just spent an afternoon doing a final check over their summer homework together.

As it turned out, Helen was an atrocious speller, and he could barely read half her essays. She insisted she had a charm to fix them that she'd employ on the train, and then demanded he drop the subject. Draco did so, not wanting to garner the wrath of a girl he'd heard debate the finer points of poison with his mother a few weeks ago. Sometimes he forgot how vicious she could be, the same way he forgot his mother was a born Black and probably had a lot of similar discussions over the dinner table as a child.

Since they both figured there wasn't much more they could do with their homework, their study session had dissolved into a discussion about electives. They were both taking Care of Magical Creatures, but where Helen was taking Ancient Ruins, Draco had opted for Arithmancy. It was supposed to be rather heavy with mathematics, and Draco had always been good with numbers. Helen expressed an interest in wards as the reason for choosing Ruins.

The entire time they were talking, she kept sending covert glances his way. Her eyes were scrunched up in concentration, as if she was trying to make a decision about something. Draco decided to keep talking, and let Helen make the decision when she was ready.

"I am really excited about Arithmancy, but honestly, anything would be better than Divination. The way the upper years speak, Trelawney must be some drunken old bat making things up. To think, Dumbledore actually lets a fraud like that _teach_ ," he exclaimed. Dumbledore really was a hack of a Headmaster, just as his father always told him.

"Hey, want to see something interesting?" Helen interrupted abruptly, a determined expression coming onto her face.

"I guess," Draco replied curiously.

Helen led him through the Manor until they reached the front doors, where she politely asked a house-elf to retrieve their brooms. She mounted hers and launched into the air, bidding Draco to follow her. They swooped up onto the roof where Helen hopped off gracefully, Draco imitating her.

"The sunset is beautiful from up here, don't you think?" Helen mentioned, watching the orange globe stain the sky in it's descent, casting light and shadow across the rolling and well-manicured grounds of Malfoy Manor. The view was incredible, and Draco wondered why he'd never been up here to gaze at the sunset before.

"Yeah, it is," he murmured.

"Draco, would you mind terribly if I stole something from you?" Helen questioned out of the blue, eyes glinting in a determination that signaled she had come to some sort of decision.

"Er, what would you be stealing exactly?" he asked, completely confused.

"A kiss," she answered simply, before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his without pause. Draco sat there in absolute shock for two whole seconds before responding. The kiss was chaste and brief but it still made Draco's cheeks flare up with a dramatic blush when Helen pulled away.

"Wha- what was that for?" he asked, feeling completely embarrassed even though it was _Helen_ who had kissed _him_.

Helen shrugged, completely nonchalant, unembarrassed, and unrepentant.

"We have Hogsmeade trips this year, it's the first chance Hogwarts students really have to start dating. I wanted to have my first kiss with someone I trust before then. This way, I won't regret wasting it on a lame first date," she explained. She shot him a warm smile before gathering her broom and flying off without another word.

Draco held his hand up to his lips where they still tingled a bit from the remembered sensation. It became abruptly clear to him in that moment that there would never be anything romantic between him and Helen. She kissed him so her first kiss would be an unspoiled moment, one that could never be ruined by a subsequent break up or a nasty couple's spat. She kissed him because she had no intention, ever, of dating him.

Draco thought that should upset him, but surprisingly, it didn't. Maybe it was because his crush had been unreciprocated from the beginning and had started to ware down. Maybe it was because he was becoming more aware of politics and knew that, no matter how good it looked to the Ministry to associate with the Girl-Who-Lived, dating her would be courting powerful enemies. Maybe it was because there had always been something untouchable about Helen to him; she was too beautiful, too strong, too irritatingly Gryffindor and unexpectedly Slytherin to be a real person he could date and not an ideal to admire from afar.

Whatever the reason, Draco was shocked to feel almost… relieved that this had happened. Maybe he could start to admire or even love Helen in a different way, one that didn't have an inevitable rejection hanging above it. He smiled faintly to himself. She'd stolen his first kiss, and as she said, he would never regret it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen re-entered the Manor feeling accomplished. She had been debating with herself on how she was going to handle her first kiss for a few months, and was pleased with her solution. It hadn't been an incredibly romantic moment, but the backdrop had been picturesque, and honestly she hadn't wanted it to be overly emotional- preferring a relaxed, casual moment that wouldn't be hampered by remembered anxiety or unrealistic expectations. She would never have to worry about Draco breaking her heart and ruining the moment, because she would never hand him her heart in the first place.

She liked Draco, don't get her wrong, he was a good friend, but they would never work in a long-term romantic sense. He was a budding politician with an aristocratic upbringing and hyper-traditional values. She… wasn't. She had struggled and fought, went with too little for too long. She couldn't stand to be a rich boy's coddled girlfriend, or a politician's obedient wife. She was a fighter to her core- she needed someone who could keep up.

That was all away in the future, though. For now, she'd steal her first kiss from a good friend, have a few awkward dates in Hogsmeade, and try to get Cedric Diggory to notice her.  
Helen deposited her broom in her rooms and then headed in the direction of Lucius' office. At breakfast, he had requested that Helen stop by his home office at some point during the day, saying he'd be in there until he went to bed. Helen wasn't sure what he wanted, but was pleased with the opportunity to confront him one-on-one. She had a few questions to ask. She knocked politely on his door, and strolled in when he told her to enter.

Lucius' office was large and filled with dark wood furniture and golden fixtures. The desk was huge, obviously meant to subconsciously intimidate all who entered. Lucius commanded Dobby to get them a tea service while Helen seated herself in a luxurious leather chair that dwarfed her small frame, making her appear to be more of a child than she actually was. Helen ignored that and dove right into their conversation.

"So, you're a politician, right?" she stated, more than asked. Not the most graceful of openings, but it'd work.

"In a manner of speaking," Lucius hummed, raising a cup of tea to his lips.

"Than you probably know a pretty good forgery spell, yeah?" she questioned casually. Lucius sputtered into his teacup.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, his voice a little raspy from choking a bit on hot tea. Helen shrugged, playing at innocent nonchalance.

"Seems like something a politician ought to know," she deadpanned. Lucius sent her a scrutinizing look.

"And why exactly, Miss Potter, would you need a forgery spell?" he asked, still avoiding the question of whether he knew one or not. Helen didn't mind; this was exactly the opening she'd been waiting for.

"My relatives refused to sign my Hogsmeade permission form," she admitted, with just enough information to make him ask more questions.

"Why would they do that?" he asked, barely repressing a sneer. Helen knew Lucius Malfoy hated muggles more than just about anything, except maybe wizards who sympathized with them. She planned to use that to her advantage.

"We had a bit of a disagreement. I like magic, and they think it's unnatural and hate anything to do with it. That's not really a conducive environment to get permission forms signed," Helen said, still playing it calm and cool. Lucius looked very interested now, as well as disgusted, probably by the idea that anyone could hate magic.

"Are you telling me that Helen Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, lives amongst magic hating muggles?" he asked, although it wasn't really a question.

"Pretty much, but that's neither here nor there," she said vaguely. "The question was if you knew any forgery spells," she reminded. Helen could practically see the wheels spin in Lucius' mind. She was confident that he'd create a solution for her, if only to prove his superiority to magic hating muggles.

This ploy was more than just an attempt to get her Hogsmeade dilemma handled, though. She was also putting feelers out for any possible living alternatives next summer. She'd effectively burned her bridges with the Dursleys by turning the neighborhood against them, and living with them after that would be harrowing at best, impossible at worst.

If she got Lucius Malfoy on the trail, however, he may know of some legal (or illegal, she wasn't picky) avenues she could go down to get out from under her relatives thumbs for good. At any rate, alerting him of her situation in the vaguest way possible couldn't hurt. She really didn't want to play the weak little girl and reveal all the nasty details of her upbringing to see results, but she would if she had too. She wasn't above playing on people's sympathies if it was something she really wanted, and she _really_ wanted to get away from the Dursleys. That would be tantamount to winning her war against them.

"I am not going to teach a thirteen-year-old how to forge documents, nor do I condone such behavior," Lucius stated, but Helen could see the corner of his mouth twitching in suppressed amusement. "Normally, I'd just send a letter to the Board of Governors, and they'd write you an exemption from the permission slip. However, this year they may be… reluctant to do so. And that's actually why I asked you to visit me in my office."

Lucius proceeded to inform her about the daring escape of Sirius Black. He was the first person to ever escape Azkaban, a suspected Death Eater, and most significantly, at least in Helen's opinion, _a goddamn traitor_. According to Lucius, he'd been her father's best friend, her godfather, and they'd made him their Secret Keeper when they went into hiding under the Fidelius Charm. He'd betrayed her parents to the Dark Lord, allowing him to find and kill them, and then ran off, killed a bunch of muggles and another friend of her parents, Peter Pettigrew, and was shipped off to Azkaban laughing.

Helen took deep, slow breaths during his explanation, trying desperately to cling to her composure when all she wanted to do was lash out and break something. She didn't think she'd ever hate anyone more than Voldemort, but she was wrong. When Voldemort murdered her parents, at least it wasn't under false pretenses. He was a homicidal terrorist and everyone knew it. But Sirius Black had been James Potter's best friend and her godfather, and he'd _stabbed them in the back_. Lucius warned her that Sirius may be after her to finish what he started. Helen welcomed it, because when he found her she was going to shove the Sword of Gryffindor so far up his arse he'd choke on it.

Helen thanked Lucius for telling her about it, even if it was a few weeks after the fact (she really needed to start reading the Daily Prophet, even if it was eighty percent rubbish). Lucius admitted that he waited so long because Narcissa didn't like Sirius spoken about at all, apparently they were first cousins and there was a lot of family drama going on there. Lucius promised he'd try to get the Governors to let her go to Hogsmeade, even though he believed they'd say no on the grounds of her safety. Helen got up to leave when she remembered one of the main reasons she'd wanted to talk to Lucius in the first place.

"I have one more question, if you don't mind," she requested from her place by the door. She was glad they could have this part of the conversation standing up; she didn't want to look like a naïve child.

"Of course, Miss Potter, ask me anything," he offered graciously. Helen wondered if it was the atmosphere of the office that prompted him to use her surname instead of just calling her Helen, as he had been doing for weeks now at her insistence.

"Why'd you give Ginny Weasley the diary?" she asked, no hesitation, no holding back. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. She watched what very little color his face possessed drain away, and the instinctive movement of his hand going for his wand.

As was usual in tense situations, Helen's ADHD picked up, and her hand went to her hair where the disguised Sword of Gryffindor was. The move was decidedly casual if one didn't know her hairclip was a weapon, which Lucius did not.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, I just want to know why. You don't seem like the type of father to unleash a basilisk on the school your son is residing in, no matter how many muggleborns get petrified or killed," she said evenly, as if they weren't discussing the potential death of children and her host's role in that.

"What makes you think I had anything to do with that fiasco?" he eventually asked, neither confirming nor denying her suspicions, which was a much better reaction than she had been expecting. She had been prepared to dodge spell fire.

Now she had to come up with a convincing lie to take the heat off of Dobby. If Lucius knew what his house-elf had done, it would end very badly for the poor thing. Helen was struck by inspiration when she remembered exactly when Ginny had started writing in that infuriating thing and how she must have gotten ahold of it.

"That day in Diagon Alley, when you and Mr. Weasley had a spat in Flourish and Blotts, I saw you slip it in Ginny's cauldron. I didn't know what it was capable of until I entered the Chamber, so I didn't say anything," Helen lied. She was making an educated guess that that was the moment Ginny had received the diary, and hoped luck was on her side. It made the most sense, it was the only time Ginny and Lucius had come into any sort of contact that day, but he could have just as easily had a house-elf deliver it later.

"And why haven't you told anyone of your suspicions?" Lucius asked evenly, face set in a cold mask. Right now, she wasn't a houseguest; she was an enemy with potentially damning information.

"Like I said, I don't think you'd intentionally release a basilisk where it could hurt your family. So, I'm assuming you didn't know what the diary did, or didn't think it would get into Hogwarts. What was the point?" she asked.

Lucius didn't say anything for a long moment. He just stared at her intensely, grey eyes cold and assessing. He was evaluating her words, those unspoken, and every reason or motivation she had, has, and would have. The silence stretched for so long that Helen assumed she was dismissed and reached for the doorknob, only to freeze when a cultured voice drifted across the room quietly.

"Arthur Weasley is a nuisance. He's been stirring up trouble for my family for years and he had my home invaded by the Ministry looking for Dark objects last year. They didn't find anything, of course, there was nothing to find. But it was supremely frustrating and an insult to my family. Wouldn't it be ironic if, after accusing my family of harboring Dark artifacts, he was caught with one of his own?"

Helen stood there for a moment, trying to measure the truth of his words. She could read between the lines, Lucius had wanted revenge for the insult, and sought it out by setting up the Weasleys to get caught with a Dark object. They would've faced the penalties for that, which Helen knew from Ron, included a hefty fine, possible termination from work, or possible time in Azkaban depending on the object.

The righteous Gryffindor part of Helen wanted to yell at Lucius for his hypocrisy. He was mad about a raid he deemed unnecessary and insulting when he _obviously_ had Dark artifacts in his home and got away with it. The Weasley's were her friends (Ginny excluded) and they didn't deserve to be set up like that. The Slytherin part of Helen told her to keep her mouth shut. She had a lot riding on Lucius' cooperation, including her friendship with Draco. It wouldn't do to piss him off over something she couldn't change now.

"Ironic indeed," she answered quietly before slipping out of his office.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next day Helen accompanied the Malfoy's to Diagon Alley for school supply shopping. They whisked through stores quickly, trying to avoid the crowds as much as possible. There was a shift in how the Malfoy's presented themselves in public compared to how they behaved at home. They were colder, snootier, and less approachable. The easy affection Helen could see between the family of three was heavily restrained, and their pureblood manners were out in full force. The whole charade looked terribly exhausting to Helen.

While in Flourish and Blotts Helen idly noticed that the Defense textbook for that year was actually pretty good: well written and comprehensive. Maybe they'd actually have a good professor this year. Helen also realized that the man-eating book Hagrid had sent her for her birthday was on the book list for Care of Magical Creatures. This both enhanced Helen's appreciation for the gift from her large friend, and created a bit of anxiety about the class itself. She and Draco spared a minute of their rapid shopping trip to moon over the newest broom on the market: the highly coveted Firebolt.

After the trip to Diagon, the last few days of summer were spent preparing for the school year. Robes were washed, trunks were packed, brooms and wands were polished. It was a startling contrast to her last summer at the Weasley's, where packing was done the night before with endless bouts of chaos, stealing, and the last minute recovery of lost items. They Flooed to Kings Cross Station thirty minutes early, another difference from traveling with the Weasley's. The Malfoy's had a touching goodbye at home, and a rather reserved one at the station. Thankfully, Lucius levitated their trunks onto the train for them as Helen hopped on, Hedwig in hand.

Helen followed Draco to a compartment toward the back that already held Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Millicent Bulstrode. He collapsed in an elegant sprawl on the seat but Helen remained standing.

"You going to sit down sometime today, Potter?" Millicent asked, looking at Helen questioningly.

"Sorry, but you'll all have to live without my glittering presence. I promised Ron and Hermione I'd ride the train with them," she explained. That earned her grimaces all around.

"I don't understand what you see in the blood trai- I mean Weasley and Granger," Theo stated, correcting himself when he saw Helen's raised eyebrow.

"You're lucky I see anything in you," Helen teased, poking him in the forehead. Theo scowled but his lips were twitching as if fighting off a smile.

"Must be my stunning good looks," Theo deadpanned. Millicent and Draco snorted aloud.

"More like she puts up with you because for some reason we let you hangout with the rest of us," Draco snarked. Theo threw a chocolate frog wrapper at his head. Helen ignored the boys in light of something far more important.

"Millicent, I picked up a nail care kit for you in Diagon. We are going to tame your nails, even if I have to petrify you to get it done," she declared. Over the past year, as Helen grew closer to the Slytherins, she had discovered Millicent had pretty low self-esteem. Surely she wasn't the most attractive girl in their year (Helen blamed Pureblood inbreeding for the blunt nature of her features) but Helen thought a few beauty treatments might raise her self-worth a bit. In a perfect world, how one looked wouldn't affect the value they had in themselves, but Helen had known she didn't live in a perfect world for a very long time.

"It's about time. I tried to get her to paint them with me last year, but she didn't think it was 'practical'," came the cool voice of Daphne Greengrass as she glided into the compartment. The composed girl sat gracefully beside Millie, seamlessly joining the conversation.

"It isn't! You spend all this time painting and then a few hours later one of them chips. What's the point?" Millicent asked in frustration.

"And when they chip, you paint them again. The point is that they enhance your overall look," Helen informed her.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means the right nail polish can convey a lot in a subtle way. You can color your nails for holidays, to show House affiliation, to match you're favorite Quidditch teams colors, or more generally to match your outfit. It's subtle but powerful. Nail polish is the Slytherin of accessories," Daphne explained. Helen was actually rather impressed by the explanation. She hadn't thought of it like that.

Further discussion on the subject was halted by the grating voice of Pansy Parkinson, who entered the compartment with Blaise at her side. Helen wondered vaguely if the irritating girl still disliked her, and was answered immediately when she glared at Helen and asked the compartment at large what she was doing there.

"No worries, Parkinson, I'll leave in a minute. Just waiting for some friends," Helen dismissed her easily, and that only seemed to cause Pansy to fume in her seat at being disregarded. Helen held back a smirk. They all chatted for a few more minutes until the warning whistle sounded and Helen excused herself to find Ron and Hermione. Knowing about the Weasley's chronic lateness, she hadn't seen the point of looking until then.

Helen found her friends in the very back of the train, sharing a compartment with an older gentleman who, frankly, looked homeless. His robes were worn and patched, his face lined and scarred, and he was sleeping in a defensive huddled pile. Something about him made Helen uneasy, it was a similar feeling she had around Norbert, like if she wasn't paying enough attention he'd eat her face.

Helen listened as attentively as she was able while Ron regaled them with tales of the Weasley's misadventures in Egypt. They'd explored tombs that apparently had nasty curses and traps set up by ancient wizards. Helen was rather interested to hear about the cursebreakers working there and made a mental note to get into contact with Ron's brother Bill and ask more about it. Hermione then shared stories from her time in France, which sounded rather delightful to Helen. She was a bit jealous of her friends, to be honest. She had barely seen much of London, let alone gone to another country on holiday. Reluctantly, Helen informed her friends of her visit with the Malfoy's, limiting the details. As expected, they'd both disapproved. Well, Hermione disapproved. Ron was outraged.

Helen managed to calm them down, but it had taken effort and Ron was still grumbling under his breath. Neither of them had been particularly thrilled that Helen had started befriending Slytherins last year, but where both powerless to stop her. Helen wondered humorously what his reaction would be if Ron knew she kissed Draco. Maybe he'd explode.

The topic shifted to Ron's ailing rat, Scabbers, whom Helen had always found vaguely disgusting, and Hermione's new cat, Crookshanks, which was an ugly ginger beast that apparently had it out for the rat. The conversation took a darker turn when Sirius Black came up. Helen shared a little bit of what Lucius told her, including Black's status as Helen's godfather. She conveniently left out that he may be after her, not wanting to worry her friends.

Icy rain was splashing against the train window, and the clouds were ominously dark when the train slowed down and came to a screeching halt without explanation.

"What's going on? We can't be there already," Hermione wondered, looking unsettled. Helen's instincts were screaming at her. Something was wrong. The lights went out, and the door to their newly darkened carriage was flung open with two figures stumbling in. Helen raised her wand, completely on edge and ready to fire off curses in all directions.

"Ow, my foot!" barked Ron.

"Sorry," squeaked a rather familiar voice.

"Lumos," stated Hermione, and an orb of light illuminated the car. The new arrivals were revealed to be Neville, who had stepped on Ron's foot, and Ginny. Helen now wished she had thrown curses in the dark when she had the chance. Then she'd have plausible deniability on her side when she blasted the girl through the door.

"Do you guys know what's going on?" whispered Neville. "The light's are off all down the train and no one knows what's happening. We kinda just stumbled into the first compartment we could get too. The hallway's a mess."

Neville never received an answer, because at that moment the cold seemed to intensify, and Hermione's light flickered out. The compartment door opened again, this time slowly, to reveal a rotting, humanoid figure floating in the doorway.

Immediately, Helen was overwhelmed in bitter misery. Memories seemed to dance before her eyes. Long days locked in her cupboard, Vernon's aborted attack this summer, being poisoned in the Chamber of Secrets, Quirrell burning to death beneath her fingers. The most breath stopping effect was the sound of a woman screaming in terror. It wasn't something Helen recognized, but it echoed incessantly in her ears, more prominent than anything else as black overtook her vision.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione Granger was the brilliant only child of two loving, supporting parents. Her family wasn't rich, but they were well enough off that anything Hermione needed or truly wanted was taken care of. Until reaching the Wizarding World, Hermione had little to fear besides the dark. When the horrid, rotting creature entered their compartment to spread misery, Hermione's misery wasn't fear of what had happened, although a few flashes of the third floor corridor and a reflection of bulbous yellow eyes did make themselves known, but instead something that has haunted her steps since childhood. Loneliness.

The cloaked demon took in rattling breaths, while the feelings of biting loneliness expanded in her chest. She'd had almost no friends growing up, she realized now she had been overbearing, but it still hurt to see other little girls giggling in groups and know she wasn't welcome.

She was nearly in tears by the time she realized the creature was honing in on one particular occupant of the compartment. Helen sat stiffly in her seat, complexion nearly colorless, hands shaking as the demon drew closer, leaning toward her face. Her best friend's emerald eyes rolled back in her head as she slumped off her seat. The bitter loneliness in Hermione's chest flared at seeing one of her very first friends slump to the floor. She shrieked.

"Helen! Helen, get up! _Please_."

At her plead, the raggedy sleeping man Hermione suspected to be the new Defense Professor, R. J. Lupin according to his trunk, sprung up from his slouch with his wand at the ready.

"Leave, none of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks," he demanded. The wraith seemed to hesitate unsurely, which was too long for Lupin. He shouted a spell, and a burst of white light filled the compartment, chasing off the creature with a pained rattle. Hermione fell to her knees next to Helen as the lights flickered back on, and the misery stopped pressing down on her chest.

"What the bloody hell was that?" questioned Ron, voice croaking. His face was so pale Hermione could see every orange freckle standing out. Ginny and Neville were huddled together, still shaking.

"Dementors. Foul beasts, they guard Azkaban. I was told they might be at the school this year looking for Sirius Black but I had no idea they'd be on the train. Here, eat this," Lupin explained while handing out squares of chocolate. Hermione took hers with numb fingers. Lupin kneeled next to Hermione just as Helen's eyes flickered open. She raised a hand to her head with a grimace.

"Ugh, what happened? I feel like the Hogwarts Express ran me over," she murmured. Lupin repeated his explanation before demanding they all eat their chocolate and leaving to speak with the conductor. Hermione helped Helen, who was still looking rather ashen, into her seat and took a bite. The chocolate seemed to work almost immediately by spreading warmth through her body.

Helen mentioned a woman screaming which made Hermione frown. She had shrieked Helen's name, but her friend seemed to be referring to a prolonged yell, which hadn't happened. Helen brushed it off, pretending it was nothing. The chocolate had brought color back into her cheeks, but Hermione was still worried about her friend.

The train pulled into the station, and Hermione was trying to convince Helen to stop by the Hospital Wing when a wave of green interrupted her. Draco Malfoy stood at the front of a pack of Slytherins in their year, looking worried.

"Helen, are you alright? We heard you were attacked by a Dementor," he inquired anxiously. Helen stepped forward and reassured them all that she was fine. Hermione, still feeling insecure from all the feelings the Dementors had drug up, was further upset with the reminder that Helen had made friends with the Slytherins, particularly the one who'd called her a Mudblood. Hermione had taken Helen's advice and worked past it, but was still hurt that Helen would be friends with her bully.

"Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing," Theodore Nott suggested. Hermione didn't know a lot about Nott, he was in Malfoy's group but spoke very little in class. He sometimes beat her out for reference books in the library, which she found irksome.

"I'm _fine_ , Theo," Helen insisted. "I'm not fragile, you guys. Getting a little too friendly with a Dementor isn't going to kill me."

"Unfortunately," murmured Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione was about to insert herself into the conversation again to try and convince Helen, when the decision was taken out of both their hands. Professor McGonagall swept into the corridor and demanded Helen and Hermione follow her. A pouting Helen was escorted to the Hospital Wing, stuffed with chocolate, and doped up on sleeping potions (while complaining profusely the entire time). Hermione was taken aside and given the key to her academic success this year. A time-turner: highly regulated by the Ministry, extremely dangerous if used wrong, and the biggest secret Hermione had ever kept. She couldn't even tell Ron and Helen about it, she'd need another excuse for how she was taking so many classes.

Hermione tucked the little hourglass shaped device under her shirt and made her way to the tale end of the Welcoming Feast. She was vindicated to realize R. J. Lupin (the R standing for Remus) was to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor as she expected. She was pleasantly shocked that Hagrid was the new Care of Magical Creatures Professor. It was nice to know Hagrid was no longer being limited by a crime he hadn't even committed sixty years ago.

Hermione had to field a bunch of questions from the Gryffindors about how Helen was doing, where she was, and what happened. Sometimes Hermione forgot Helen was a celebrity and people loved to talk about her, positively and negatively.

Of course, plenty of people asked in legitimate concern. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was quite upset, particularly Fred and George. Lavender and Parvati were practically teary-eyed, dramatic as usual. Dean and Seamus listened with rapt attention as Ron and Neville told them what happened, and the general consensus was that the Dementors were bad news, and no one was particularly happy with their presence at Hogwarts.

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen was in a less than pleased mood when she headed down for breakfast on the first morning of classes. Madam Pomfrey, who Helen had decided to call Poppy from now on because they spent so much time together anyway, had forced chocolate and sleeping potions on her even though Helen insisted she felt _perfectly fine_. As soon as she entered the Great Hall, Helen was mobbed by well-wishers and worried friends, as well as a few overly curious gossipmongers prepared to spread the latest on Helen Potter. Eventually she managed to wade to her preferred seat at the Gryffindor table between Hermione and Parvati.

She picked at a few pieces of toast while McGonagall handed out schedules. Helen studied hers idly, noting that Transfiguration was her first class of the week with a smile; nothing like starting off the year on a high note. Helen also noticed that Hermione was stuffing her schedule into her bag quite forcefully, as if trying to keep it from view. Helen chalked it up to excitement over classes and let it go.

Transfiguration, as usual, went smoothly. It was mostly review work from last year that Helen completed with ease. At the end of class McGonagall held her back to give her a more advanced assignment like they had done the previous year secretly. She couldn't wait to begin studying human transfiguration, it was pretty advanced work, especially for a thirteen-year-old, and Helen was quite proud her professor trusted her with it.

Charms was next, another review session, and then came her first Ancient Runes class. Helen had planned to walk with Hermione, who had mentioned she was taking it, but couldn't find her and settled for making the trek alone and then sitting next to Padma Patil when she reached the classroom that was also Hermione free. Her bushy haired friend didn't arrive until the last minute, slightly winded and with a book bag bulging with texts. Helen raised an inquiring eyebrow at the brunet who just shrugged and slipped into the last empty seat next to Terry Boot.

Professor Babbling swept into the room, handed out syllabi and dove right in. Helen enjoyed her professor's fast paced teaching method, which kept her attention better than most, but soon realized exactly how theory heavy the course was going to be. They weren't going to begin any rune carving until next year, and that was after they memorized the main runic languages by heart. Helen watched an example rune skip across her page like all the letters she tried to read tended to do, and sighed. This was going to take a lot of work.

Helen was feeling a little discouraged by her dyslexia after class, and was lost in her own self-pity by the time she reached the Gryffindor Common Room. This made her doubly unprepared for being tackled into a hug by a crying Lavender, fresh from her first Divination class with Trelawney.

"Oh, Helen! It's so terrible! I'm so sorry!" she sobbed. Helen noticed a few of her year mates, including Ron, Parvati and Neville had approached her, all looking pale-faced and nervous.

"Er, what are you sorry for exactly?" Helen asked confusedly.

"Your fate! Professor Trelawney said- she said-" and then Lavender burst into tears again, clinging tightly to Helen, who turned to face Ron.

"Care to explain what happened with Trelawney?" she asked. Ron bit his lip.

"We were reading tea leaves in class, and in mine she saw the sign for friendship, a lightning bolt, and… the Grim," Ron grimaced, still looking worried. "The Professor said that the bolt was referring to you, and a Grim… well… it means death, Helen," Ron imparted solemnly. Helen sent him her best 'unimpressed' look.

"Really? Is that what this is about? Guys, I told you in my letters this summer, Trelawney is a hack. If I die it's certainly not because Ron doesn't know how to strain tea properly," Helen said dismissively.

She was completely unconcerned by whatever that old fraud had to say about her fate. Every upper year she'd talked to agreed that Trelawney didn't know what she was talking about, and a few even mentioned that she tended to predict student deaths quite often. Helen was not afraid to die but she was even less afraid of a lying hermit pretending to be a professor. In the end, Helen refused to give the situation the fear her friends thought it deserved, minus Hermione who agreed with Helen that it was complete rubbish.

The rest of the week progressed normally enough. After the first Potion's lesson, Helen stayed after class to discuss the warding book Professor Snape had lent her. He kept a rather neutral expression on his face during their discussion, only disrupted by a small quirk of the lip when she asked how to enhance the shock ward. He gave her a few tips, but suggested a few reference books from the library instead of outright telling her how. Helen found his 'teach-them-to-teach-themselves' method quite annoying sometimes.

Helen learned quickly that Wednesday's were going to be the worst, as they included double sessions of History of Magic and Herbology, her least favorite classes. Contrarily, Helen was thrilled that Hagrid was stepping up to be the new Care of Magical Creatures Professor. He was stuttering and a bit nervous for their first lesson, but Helen was sure he'd improve in time.

She may have been biased because he let her ride a hippogriff named Buckbeak; a fierce and magnificent creature that Helen immediately fell in love with. Who wouldn't admire a part-bird horse that could fly and trample or claw your enemies to death? Speaking of which, Helen had needed to yank Draco away from the hippogriff when he didn't show it proper respect and nearly got clawed himself. If it wasn't for Helen's quick reflexes she was sure the blonde would have been sporting some severe gouges. She smacked him over the back of his head for being a moron after saving him.

The true stand out of the first week, though, had to be Defense Against the Dark Arts. Quite honestly, Helen's expectations hadn't been too high after the Lockhart debacle of last year. She filed into the class with Ron and Hermione, and instead of the rows of desks she was anticipating, she was met with open class space and an old rattling wardrobe. The classroom itself was different; instead of large portraits of Lockhart winking down on them there was a shadowy tank in the corner, a few tapestries with various magical creatures on the wall and several bookshelves carrying an assortment of Defense related texts.

Once everyone had entered the classroom and had stood around awkwardly for a minute, Professor Lupin came strolling in with a small smile and a calm voice. He looked as scruffy as he had on the Hogwarts Express, but had a healthier glow about him. After introducing himself and having a quick roll call, Lupin revealed the subject of the first lesson: boggarts.

Boggarts are curious creatures, who prefer dark, cramped spaces and can shape shift into the worst fear of whoever holds its attention. Professor Lupin demonstrated this on Neville, who it turns out, was desperately afraid of Professor Snape. When Lupin exhibited the way to defeat a boggart and the Professor Snape look-a-like ended up dressed like Neville's grandmother, Helen and Ron had to lean on each other to stay upright they were laughing so hard.

After Neville, everyone was expected to face the boggart. A lot of the fears were rather petty, the nightmares of children during peacetime. Ron got to show everyone his fear of spiders when the boggart turned into an acromantula, and Helen couldn't help but giggle when Hermione's boggart turned into Professor McGonagall giving her a failing grade. Before long, it was Helen's turn.

She stepped up to the wardrobe, and ignored Lupin's aborted motion to stop her. She didn't know what his problem was; she could face her fear just like anyone else in the class. Probably better than most, considering her experience in dangerous, high-pressure situations.

Truthfully, Helen wasn't entirely sure what was going to come popping out for her. Voldemort maybe? Although she'd faced him head on and won, there was still the fact that he was an infamous murderer who'd killed her family. There might be enough fear under the hate and anger to make a boggart. Or perhaps a drakon would slither out? One had nearly killed her last year, and although she'd defeated it, she could still remember the burning pain and fatigue it's venom had caused while spreading through her body.

Helen was as surprised as anyone when the boggart glided out of the wardrobe as a rotting, cloaked Dementor. Helen froze for a brief second as bleak coldness started to weigh heavily on her.

"Ri- rid- ri-" Helen stammered, unable to make the boggart defense spell come off her lips when she was _so_ cold, and _who was screaming_?

Just as Lupin stepped forward to intervene, however, something strange happened. The Dementor shuddered once, and seemed to peer at her from under his hood. As quick as a flash its scabbed hands darted forward and grabbed Helen by the shoulders, jerking her forward. Helen barely let out a short gasp of surprise before being yanked fully into the wardrobe with the boggart, the heavy wooden door locking behind them with a deafening click.

Helen could hear the muted sound of chaos breaking out in the classroom through the wood, but was more concerned with the Dementor shaped boggart that was… petting her? In the impenetrable darkness of the wardrobe, Helen could feel a scabbed hand tapping her head in exaggerated gentleness.

"Aunt-ie," it rasped, voice coarse and breathless. The word snapped Helen out of her shock and, although she wouldn't admit it, fearful stupor.

"Wait, what?" she demanded.

"Aunt-ie," it repeated before _snuggling_ close to her in the darkness and giving off a sort of pleased hum that sounded like rustling leaves. Helen couldn't remember a time when she was more confused.

"Aunty? I think you might be a little confused, I don't have any siblings, let alone nieces or nephews… or boggarts," Helen added conversationally. She wasn't sure the creature could understand her, but it had said 'aunty' or something like it, and she wasn't completely sure if boggarts had a gender or not considering they were shape shifters. Something to think about…

"Aunt-ie," the boggart insisted. Helen sighed.

"I guess. I can try to be your aunt, but I haven't really had a good role-model, so I may not do a very good job," Helen warned, deciding to play along. It seemed like the smart thing to do when trapped in a wardrobe with a boggart shaped like a creature capable of _sucking your soul out_. Helen wasn't sure if boggarts gained all the abilities of the shape they took, but decided not to risk angering it just in case.

"Good aunt-ie," the boggart encouraged. Helen felt her lips quirk in a little smile at the boggart's resolve.

"Miss Potter, are you alright?" called the voice of Helen's newest professor, thick with nervous tension.

"Yeah, I'm fine professor, he-she- it's friendly," she called back, still unsure of the pronoun. The boggart didn't specify.

There was a pregnant pause from the classroom.

"…Seriously?" Lupin asked sounding a little flabbergasted.

"Yep," Helen replied. She turned her attention back to the cuddliest personification of fear she'd ever met. "I have to get back to class now, would you mind opening the door?"

The resulting rasp, which sounded like a rusty hinge, seemed less than pleased.

"What if I promise to come back and visit you?" Helen bargained off the top of her head. She wasn't exactly eager to be thrust back into this bizarre situation, but she'd do it to secure her freedom now. She was pretty sure she could hear her roommates crying through the door.

A rasping sigh was released. Helen was pretty sure that was a grudging yes.

"Bye, Aunt-ie," the boggart sighed before the wardrobe sprung open and she went tumbling out into the arms of her Defense Professor as the door swung shut behind her.

"Interesting first lesson, Professor," Helen complimented.

XXXXXXXXXX

Third year was speeding by. Helen had always considered Oliver Wood Quidditch obsessed, but as practices began for his very last year as Captain, Helen truly began to understand what mania looked like. The twins had at one point organized a protest against Oliver's 'tyranny' when he tried to enforce conditioning at five am four times a week. Helen had offered to make the signs for their protest. She was as determined to win as ever, but she knew a line was crossed when it threatened her beauty sleep.

There was also the matter of Hogsmeade. Helen had received a letter from Lucius about two weeks into the semester baring bad news. As they feared, the Board of Governors wouldn't exempt her from the permission slip due to the threat of Sirius Black. Helen was rather upset, but still determined. Just because she didn't have permission, didn't mean she wasn't going to go. What was the point of owning an Invisibility Cloak if you didn't use it to flout authority?

On the morning of the first trip, however, Helen was sidelined by Professor Lupin before she could pull her Cloak out of her knapsack. If Helen didn't know better, she would have believed Lupin knew what she had planned- his timing was so good. Not to mention he kept eyeing her bag with a ghost of a smile.

They ended up having tea in his office, where they discussed a variety of topics, including her parents- whom Lupin had known when he attended Hogwarts- and her boggart. Apparently, Lupin _had_ tried to stop her from facing it, but mostly because he was afraid Voldemort was going to come strolling in to the classroom, not because she couldn't handle it or because he had any idea it was going to kidnap her briefly and claim her as family. Helen actually felt a bit of pride when he complimented her bravery- apparently having a Dementor for a boggart signified fearing fear itself. Helen thought that was a bit of a stretch, Dementor's could suck out your soul- that's plenty to be afraid of on it's own- but accepted the compliment.

Their discussion was interrupted briefly by Professor Snape, who came in sour-faced to give Lupin a steaming silver goblet of potion. He seemed surprised and upset to see Helen there, if the way he slammed the goblet down was any indication. He shot Lupin a black look, before storming out of the classroom, not saying a word.

After tea with Lupin, Helen had more or less given up on sneaking into Hogsmeade that day. Instead, she decided to capitalize on the nearly empty library to do some research she'd been meaning to get around to. She started with Professor Snape's suggestions on how to enhance the shock ward she had gleefully applied to her trunk. An hour amongst the warding section of the library left her a couple possibilities, including enhancing the ward with runes, layering it with enhancement spells- which was the easiest solution in Helen's opinion- or rewriting the spell completely to give it a higher power threshold. The last one required spell-crafting knowledge which she didn't possess. Interested, she grabbed a book on the basics of spell-crafting, but resolved to add a few of the suggested enhancement spells in the meantime.

Content with her ward progress, Helen switched her focus to something she'd been meaning to look up since last year. She hadn't had the time and was too embarrassed by her lack of knowledge to bring it up to anyone else. Helen strolled to the history section and began looking up information on the Old Ways.

She'd first heard of the Old Ways from her Slytherin friends, who'd mention them vaguely every once in awhile- often in reference to how uncouth the Muggleborns were for not knowing of them. Obviously, she couldn't ask them about it when they had just been mocking others for such ignorance.

As it turns out, there was no one book that outlined the Old Ways. She spent three hours leafing through half the history section before even a hint of what it could mean exposed itself. In a book titled _The Pure-Blood Directory_ , which outlined information on the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' truly pureblood families in Britain at the time of publication in the 1930's, there were foot notes on whether they practiced 'the Olde Ways of proper wizardry' and their 'patron gods.' Helen absently noticed that the Potter's weren't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, even though she knew for a fact that her father had been a Pureblood. Perhaps an ancestor of hers had pissed off the author: Cantankerus Nott. She planned on asking Theo about it at some point, it was his relative, after all.

More importantly, the mention of 'patron gods' brought her attention to a surprisingly large section dedicated to mythology, and that's where she struck gold. Apparently, traditional witches and wizards believed in the gods of various pantheons, especially the Greeks, Romans and Egyptians- although the Gaelic gods were worshipped prominently throughout British wizarding communities specifically. Above any god or goddess of any pantheon, however, one stood out. Hecate, the Greek Goddess of Magic, was credited with the 'invention' of witches and wizards- the patron goddess of the whole Wizarding World who gifted chosen humans with magic thousands of years ago.

The Old Ways, technically, are the various methods magical families use to worship the gods. Sacrifice of food and crops was typical, as were rituals on festival days, altars at home, and various other methods. Dark Wizards who worshipped the more… volatile gods would sacrifice muggle lives to their chosen patron. A very prominent and subtle honoring of the Old Ways was jewelry crafted with a gods symbol of power- the most popular one being Hecate's Torch, which could be found on talismans, necklaces, bracelets, cufflinks, and any other place imaginable. Helen was amused to notice that she herself had been wearing a gods symbol of power for most of her life without realizing it: her lightning bolt scar could easily pass as a symbol for Zeus, the King of the Gods and another favorite among wizards.

Helen noticed abruptly how late it was getting. She'd been so distracted by her research that she hadn't noticed that it was nearly dinner time and her friends would have returned by now. She checked out three books, one on Greek mythology, one on various rituals to celebrate the gods, and _The Pure-Blood Directory-_ which she hoped to use to determine some of her friends patron gods. Helen headed back to Gryffindor Tower with a lot to think about.

XXXXXXXXXX

After dinner, which Helen had spent being evasive about what she'd done that day and being bitter at all the fun her friends had had in the village without her, the Gryffindor's headed back to the Tower but were refused entry. Apparently, Sirius Black had attempted to break in, slashing the Fat Lady's portrait with a knife and scaring the poor woman so badly she hid in a painted monastery on the third floor.

This was problematic to Helen for three reasons. Firstly, Black hadn't stuck around long enough for Helen to stab in the face for being a traitor and a direct cause to her parent's murder. Secondly, all the students had to sleep in the Great Hall that night while they searched for Black, and Helen couldn't fall asleep with the noise of hundreds of students breathing, snoring and shifting. And thirdly, the Fat Lady was so shaken up by the experience that they had to replace her with the painting of a foolish knight on a fat pony named Sir Cadogan who relished changing the password excessively and referred to people who gave the wrong password as 'rogues' and 'scoundrels'.

The whole event put Helen in a bad mood for days, and this mood was compounded by their Defense lesson that week. Lupin was apparently sick, so Professor Snape took over their class. Normally, this wouldn't be so bad, as she and Snape had come to an understanding last year. But for some reason, Snape had been out for blood that day. He'd upended their curriculum, making them learn about werewolves, their weaknesses, and how to spot them. This also didn't bother Helen too much as she had a keen interest in dangerous creatures and how to stop them. What bothered her was him yelling at her for accidentally dropping a book and then adding six inches on top to the already lengthy essay he assigned about werewolves in punishment.

Helen had been so shocked by the unexpected reprimand and punishment that she forgot to be angry until the end of class, at which point she stormed out to begin working on it. He had treated her like a Gryffindor! He'd never done that to her before. Initially there had been some apathy but this year he'd almost been treating her like one of his Slytherin students. The regression had stung.

To cap off her bad mood, their first Quidditch match of the season was up and the weather was horrible. Initially, it was supposed to be Slytherin vs Hufflepuff, but one of the Chasers faked a concussion (or maybe he had hit his head on purpose- it's hard to say how far some will go for Quidditch) so they could delay playing in the bad storm and that left Gryffindor up as the replacement. Draco was never going to hear the end of it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Cedric Diggory did not consider himself a coward. Sure he was in Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor, but Cedric had never thought for a moment that just because he wasn't in the 'brave' house, he was automatically a duffer. He liked Hufflepuff and thought the laid back and friendly atmosphere fit him better than the fervor of Gryffindor, the intellectualism of Ravenclaw or the purposeful detachment of Slytherin.

Even though Cedric didn't consider himself fainthearted, he still felt a little ashamed when he pulled back from going for the Snitch due to the piercing chill from the encroaching Dementors while Helen Potter zoomed past him with admirable focus. Cedric had heard through Hogwart's extensive rumor-mill that Helen was particularly sensitive to Dementors. If she was pushing through that than he was embarrassed to not be able to do the same.

That is, until Helen actually caught the Snitch. Cedric went from ashamed to alarmed in seconds. As her hand clasped the little golden ball, one of the more forward Dementors swooped down and caught her wrist. Cedric watched in horror as her broom was swept away in the wind and torrential rain and Helen dangled above the pitch. His mind switched into overdrive. He knew the only defense against a Dementor was the Patronus Charm… he just didn't know how to perform one.

He watched as she kicked and struggled uselessly for a moment before going limp, and Cedric decided that there really wasn't any time left to waste and he was just going to have to charge the ghastly beasts and hope for the best. He angled his broom and prayed to the gods his parents insisted were real, but before he could move three flashes of white streaked past him toward the growing hoard of Dementors.

Cedric barely made out a glowing bird, a wolf, and a doe before his wandering attention was grabbed by something else entirely. The glowing creatures were driving off the Dementors, but unfortunately that included the one holding Helen, which dropped her when the wolf lunged at it. The girl began to plummet to Earth, red Quidditch robes flapping uselessly. Cedric didn't think, he dove down as quickly as possible; hoping to grab her, catch her, slow down her fall before she hit the ground. Water was stinging his face during his descent but it was the last thing on his mind as he reached forward and snagged her left arm thirty feet from the ground.

He winced when he heard the tell-tale pop of Helen's shoulder dislocating as he desperately tried to slow their momentum and soften the hit. He straightened his broom out about six feet from the ground but the speed and Helen's dangling form cost him his balance. They both went tumbling onto the pitch, Cedric gaining a mouthful of mud for his trouble, but he was far more concerned with the pale and unmoving form beside him.

For a second, Cedric was positive that he hadn't done enough and that the force of the fall had still killed the girl despite his catch slowing her down. Thankfully, a moment later, he saw the rise and fall of her chest through her Quidditch robes, indicating she was still alive. He nearly collapsed back into the mud with relief.

At this point, a surge of people began to surround them. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was the first to arrive, circling their fallen player with clear worry, especially the Weasley twins. His own team was seconds later, crowding him and asking questions he couldn't focus on, not when Helen had yet to move an inch. The Professor's were next; Dumbledore, all four House Heads and Hagrid who was sniffling with tears as he lumbered closer to Helen. Cedric doubted he'd ever forget the absolute fury on the Headmaster's usually kind face as he sent more of those streaks of light off to chase away any of the remaining Dementors.

Professor Snape conjured a stretcher and Professor Flitwick very carefully levitated Helen onto it while Snape barked at the Gryffindor team to back off so he could work. Professor Lupin showed up, pale faced and worried trying to halt the incoming students from the stands crowding them, most prominently Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Professors McGonagall and Sprout hurried toward him.

"Mr. Diggory, are you alright?" Professor McGonagall questioned, looking him up and down with an inspecting gaze.

"I'm fine, Professor. Is Helen okay?" he asked worriedly, watching Snape and Flitwick hurry to the castle with Helen's stretcher.

"Are you sure? No broken bones? Any bruising? Perhaps you should go to the Hospital Wing as well," Professor Sprout fretted.

Cedric almost refused until he realized that would be the best place to monitor Helen's condition. He'd never talked a lot with the younger Gryffindor, but they'd been friendly ever since he'd defended her from some of his House's bullying behavior last year during the Chamber incident, and not to mention he felt guilty for not being able to catch her properly or stop the Dementor's from attacking in the first place. He was a sixth year; he should be able to protect himself and others in situations like these by now.

Cedric nodded his acquiescence and began making his way to the Hospital Wing, but only after being awarded one-hundred points for Hufflepuff by McGonagall for bravery and saving the life of another student at great personal risk. She looked _nearly_ apologetic when she mentioned that Gryffindor won the Quidditch match. Oliver Wood grinned hugely at that, the prat, and was smacked by Katie Bell for 'not having his priorities straight.'

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen felt like she'd been hit by a lorry. It was the only explanation for how sore she was, although it didn't account for the ringing in her ears, the repeated words.

 _Not Helen! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Helen! Not Helen! Please- I'll do anything-_

Her mother. That's what she heard in the presence of Dementors; her mother begging, not for her own life, but for Helen's. It made her feel sick, guilty, and infuriated all at once. She couldn't think about it. Not now.

Helen cracked open her eyes and got a face full of Gryffindor Quidditch team- mud splattered and grinning in relief.

"Helen!" cheered the twins, reaching forward to ruffle her hair simultaneously, but pulling back at the last second when they noticed her death glare, which she dropped as they retreated.

"Did we win?" she asked to a chorus of snorts from the team, except Oliver who grinned smugly, and an irritated call of 'Helen!'

Helen followed that call to Hermione, who she hadn't noticed behind the wall of Quidditch uniforms, looking at her disapprovingly. Next to Hermione Helen noticed Ron and in the hospital bed behind Ron was… Cedric Diggory?

"You'll be happy to know that your daring and suicidal move has brought Gryffindor the first win of the season," Angela informed Helen.

"It was a costly win though," Alicia added a little solemnly, placing a bundle at the foot of Helen's bed. Helen reached forward with her right hand, _why did her left shoulder hurt so much_ , and opened up the cloth to reveal the splintered remains of her Nimbus.  
"Merlin's balls!" she barked in frustration, her joy from winning rapidly dwindling in the wake of her prized broom's sacrifice.

"The wind carried it off into the Whomping Willow. Sorry, Helen," Ron informed her while Hermione cried 'language' and the twins snickered in appreciation of her cursing.

"Miss Potter, if you can't watch your language in my Hospital Wing I will spell your mouth shut," Madam Pomfrey lectured, bustling over to her bedside with a tray of potions and chocolate, slamming it down with more force then necessary. "Out with you, I have patients to care for, visiting hours are over," she demanded while shooing Helen's friends out.

They all wished her well and Ron scooped up the corpse of Helen's broom, promising to return it to her when she escaped Poppy's clutches. Helen would have to honor it properly for it's excellent service in beating the other Houses. Perhaps a Viking funeral?

Madam Pomfrey forced potions down her throat with a scowl on her face, shoving chocolate into her hand in stony silence until she turned to leave.

"You know Miss Potter, I have healed a lot of injuries over the years that were a result of foolish, youthful pride. But very rarely do I meet a student willing to charge a pack of Dementors all for a game. Especially since you know how badly they affect you. If Mr. Diggory hadn't interceded, there is no way of knowing what may have happened to you. Think on that, the next time you risk your neck."

With her piece said, MadamPomfrey turned smartly on her heel, and whisked away into her office, leaving a stunned-silent Helen in her wake.

It's never really a question when Helen does something in the pursuit of winning. She wants to win, _needs_ to, at everything she does. It's how she stayed a step ahead of the Dursley's all those years- by winning one battle at a time. She couldn't always come out on top, but she always had to try. Why should any other aspect of her life be any different? Quidditch was just one more battle in a very long line of them. She sometimes wondered what it would be like to relax.

A soft coughing noise broke the heavy silence of the room, and Helen turned slowly to gaze upon the only other filled bed in the Hospital Wing. Cedric Diggory sat there, still in his Quidditch robes, looking a little sheepish, probably due to his cough.

"So, when she said interceded…" Helen trailed off, leaving Cedric to describe exactly what happened after she passed out in the grip of a Dementor. Helen was pretty sure the Hufflepuff was underselling himself as he described what happened, but even then it sounded impressive. He very well may have saved her life if no one and nothing else had intervened in his stead.

Helen really didn't know how to feel about this. She was almost torn in two over it really. On one hand, _the_ Cedric Diggory, her crush for almost a year now, had swooped in and saved her life. He must like her at least somewhat to prevent her from meeting the fate of a pancake. On the other hand, he was also a witness to one of her most vulnerable moments to date.

One of her first instincts was to destroy any evidence of weakness, although she figured it would be rather ungrateful to 'eliminate' her rescuer. She settled on appreciating what he did for her and fishing around subtly for some blackmail on him. If they both had knowledge of weak moments, then they could more or less be even, right? One of the older Slytherins probably had something…

XXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the semester finished out quickly. Another Hogsmeade visit came, and this time Helen was able to attend thanks to the twins, who gave her an amazing discovery of theirs: the Marauder's Map. It showed her the school's secret passages, as well as the location of everyone in the building. After that, escape was easy.

She had to do a little tricky maneuvering around a few professors, but otherwise the trip went off without a hitch. She even managed to stop by Gladrags Wizardwear and pick up a leather cuff with a silver medallion hewn into it- engraved with a representation of Hecate's Torch.

Helen had steadily made her way through the mythology books. She wasn't completely sold on the idea of a God, much less _gods_ , but she found it interesting. If nothing else, wearing the cuff was a very witchy thing to do, therefore making it un-Dursley enough to satisfy her. The Dursley's had been jolly members of the good ole Church of England, as was 'proper'. At least in name and on Christmas and Easter they were. On normal Sunday's they slept in. She was never invited to go along with them to church on the rare occasions they did, being far too 'unnatural'. Helen imagined Petunia's face if she saw her walking around with a Pagan symbol on her wrist and smiled.

Helen had also finished _The Pure-Blood Directory,_ which was the most pompous book her dyslexic eyes had ever read. It had been informative though. Apparently, the Malfoy's were stalwart worshippers of Hera: Goddess of Marriage and Family, as well as Queen of Olympus. Who knew?

Some of her Slytherin friends had seen the cuff on her wrist, even though she hadn't been showing it off. They never said anything, but Helen could see the shine of approval in their eyes. Purebloods were at their happiest when you were conforming to their ways.

Helen also had a few more meetings with Professor Lupin that turned out to be rather enlightening. She'd had a lot of questions for him, but started out with why the Dementors affected her so badly. Lupin was rather grave, saying that she had experienced real horrors in her past (Helen assumed he was referring to being violently orphaned and not having to watch Dudley shovel food in his mouth with his bare hands for a decade but both were horrible) and it attracted the Dementors to her. There's nothing like a little misery to wet the appetite of soul-sucking demons.

On another one of their meetings, Helen requested time with her boggart-nephew-niece. She had promised after all. Lupin seemed extremely hesitant to concede to the request, but Helen shot him her biggest I'd-never-shove-Dudley-off-the-monkey-bars-I'm-an-innocent-cherub look and he folded like paper.

A Dementor floated forth from the wardrobe, making rusty-hinge noises that Helen interpreted as happy squeals.

"Aunt-ie."

"Yeah, I'm here buddy."

"Good."

It floated closer, bringing a hint of coldness along; nothing near a real Dementor, or even what it produced at their first meeting before it decided she was it's aunt. It was holding back for her, then. That's nice.

"Do you have a name?" she wondered, tired of referring to it as 'it' or 'boggart.'

She received a rasped sigh she interpreted as either a no, general indifference, or maybe its name _was_ a sigh. She wasn't up-to-date on boggart naming practices.

"Can I name you then?" she questioned, really wanting to be able to call it something.

"… Yes…"

"How do you feel about Wolfgang? Captiva? Agamemnon?" she tried the first names off the top of her head. She could see Lupin out of the corner of her eye (he'd refused to leave her alone with a boggart) mouthing the names with a bewildered look on his face. So she had a… unique way of naming things- sue her. Hedwig didn't seem to mind and a guy named _Remus_ didn't have a lot of room to talk.

"…No…" rasped the boggart. Back to the drawing board, then.

"Morticia? Rasputin? Cecile?"

"Ce-cile… good…" the boggart grunted decisively. Helen clapped her hands together in satisfaction.

"Cecile it is, then."

As they went to leave, Helen heard Professor Lupin muttering about feeling bad for her future children, the prat.

The re-emergence of her Dementor boggart did remind Lupin of something rather important though. He offered to give her Dementor defense lessons in the next semester. Apparently, there was a charm that could defend against them, but it was incredibly difficult to learn- most grown wizards never managed it. Fortunately, Helen had never been afraid of a challenge.

The last meeting was probably the most fruitful, however. Lupin had alluded to the fact that he knew her parents a few times, had even been friends with them. She wanted to know more; about them and him and even Sirius Black. What she got was a lot of hemming and hawing, and only answers to the questions she asked directly.

She was curious, after reading so much mythology, if her parents worshipped any of the gods. She figured her father would, being a Pureblood, but not so much her mother. She was wrong.

According to Lupin, who was rather open about this topic, her mother had actually been quite enchanted with the Old Ways. She'd even erected an alter for Hestia, one of her favorite goddesses, in their home in Godric's Hollow. Her father had favored the Norse Trickster God: Loki, and Fortuna: the Roman Luck Goddess whom their family has worshipped for a _very_ long time apparently. The Potter's were also worshippers of Thanatos, the Death God, according to family tradition but were low key about it. People tended to get a little disconcerted by worshippers of death gods.

She also learned that her mother excelled in Charms, her father was a Gryffindor Chaser starting his third year, and her Potter grandparents were named Fleamont and Euphemia- which was apparently where she got her middle name from. It was stupid to want to know such asinine facts, but Helen cherished them. She wanted parents she could look up too, that were for the most part good people. She'd never get to know them as she wanted to, but she could appreciate their memory and their sacrifice. It was becoming more important to Helen, especially since her mother's last words had been pervading her dreams since her previous Dementor encounter.

During their final meeting before the holidays, Helen was trying to coerce more information out of Lupin when Professor Snape swept in, carrying a steaming potion once more. If Helen hadn't been forced to write an extra six inches on the werewolf essay (which Lupin ended up cancelling after she finished it, irritating her further) she never would have needed to look up the finer points of lycanthropy, which included information on the Wolfsbane Potion. However, she had been made to write extra by Snape (and she was suddenly starting to wonder if punishment had ever been his intent when assigning her extra inches) and so she recognized exactly what the silver goblet, fluffy white smoke, and the pervading smell of rich wet earth signified.

Professor Lupin was taking the Wolfsbane Potion. Professor Lupin was a _werewolf_.

A lot of things suddenly made sense to Helen. The monthly illnesses, the tiredness, the scars, the tense feeling he gave her on their first meeting. Even his general shabbiness was explained; werewolves could very rarely hold decent paying jobs, especially once their secret was discovered.

Helen could tell she'd frozen while staring numbly at the goblet as her mind raced. She wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Lupin had been kind to her, told her stories about her parents that she treasured. He was also dangerous, now that she realized what he was her senses were on high alert, a palpable tension in her body that demanded action of some sort. Fight or flight. She chose flight.

With a few hastily made excuses, Helen rushed from his office to digest her most recently acquired piece of information. She completely missed Lupin's worried frown and Snape's subtle smirk.

XXXXXXXXXX

The holidays had its ups and downs. A major up was receiving a Firebolt from an anonymous giver at Christmas. It was every bit as glorious as it had been when she and Draco had admired it in Diagon over the summer. A major down was Hermione stabbing her in the back, doubting her judgment, and reporting it to McGonagall, who proceeded to confiscate the fastest broom made to date in search of tampering.

At this point, Ron swore never to speak to Hermione again. They'd been fighting all semester about her cat trying to fulfill the circle of life and kill his rat. Helen didn't care much for this argument (the cat was ugly and the rat abhorrent) but it had gotten nasty and Hermione 'threatening Gryffindor's chance at the Quidditch Cup' was apparently the final straw for the red head.

Helen nearly followed Ron into his Hermione-shunning until she took a good hard look at her best female friend. Hermione was pale with excessive bags under her eyes and her hair frizzed up more than normal due to agitation. She was surrounded with books for more classes than Helen thought anyone could take, and had a fragile look in her eyes that Helen considered a major red flag.

In other words, Hermione was a wreck, and Helen decided it was more important to make sure her friend wasn't spiraling into madness than it was to get angry at her for caring if a mass-murderer tried to kill her with nice gifts. She forgave Hermione and hoped dearly that the Firebolt would prove curse-free in time for the next Quidditch match. Hermione nearly cried in relief, and Helen felt guilty for not noticing exactly how far her friend had fallen into a study hole.

Helen also needed to make a decision about what to do with Lupin. She was now aware that he was a werewolf, which should change everything, but really changed nothing at all. He was a werewolf when he offered to teach her the Patronus Charm, and when he was telling her about her parents. He was still the same genial, knowledgeable man he was before.

Helen ultimately decided to do nothing at all. If he was getting Wolfsbane, then obviously the teachers knew what was going on, and he should be able to control the transformation with the potion: minimizing the danger he could present. Helen also chose not to tell anyone, not even Ron and Hermione. Information like that was career ending if it got out- she didn't want to take the risk.

Still, Helen couldn't help but keep her guard up just a bit in his presence after that. It was the same instinct that had prevented her from becoming dog chow that summer, or acromantula chow the year before. She just had an ingrained weariness for things that could bite her head off. Except, apparently, Cecile the boggart, who could easily turn into something that could eat her but didn't seem to ping on her radar. Must be their blooming aunt-nephew relationship.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next semester seemed to speed by so quickly Helen could barely keep up. Classes started to pile-on the homework in preparation for exams.

Her extra Transfiguration work was really starting to get interesting- she could easily turn objects into animals, animals into objects, and objects into different objects. She'd gone through the basics of animating objects, which led to an interesting afternoon where all the furniture in Gryffindor Tower participated in gladiator duels, and even managed to get through all the school taught on human Transfiguration in the traditional curriculum. McGonagall had even told her she was an excellent candidate to begin working on the Animagus Transformation in the next few years- an incredibly rare skill that few wizards ever attempted, let alone succeed at. Next year they would conquer conjurgation and banishment, which was the end of the NEWT curriculum.

Runes was still incredibly challenging, but she maintained it was better than Divination. They had started the Ancient Greek alphabet, which actually made the whole class a lot better for Helen. For some reason that baffled her completely, the Greek letters didn't skip across the page like everything else tended to do. And memorizing them was a breeze as well. It came so naturally to her that Helen joked to herself that she must have been Greek in a previous life.

Her other classes were the same as usual, Snape had returned to treating her with subtle preference over the other Gryffindors, which gave Helen even more reason to believe that his punishment from Defense had been a way to make her discover Lupin's secret. Really, he'd wanted everyone to get the picture, but he must have wanted her especially to understand, probably because she spent more time with him than other students.

Her workload was increased by the addition of Dementor repelling lessons. These frustrated Helen because she felt like she wasn't making progress quick enough. Lupin assured her that she was doing very well and it was a complicated charm that would come in time. Helen didn't want to wait.

She was at war with the Dementors, and so far she'd lost every battle. She needed a weapon to wield against them, but all she had was formless clouds of white vapor to show for it. Lupin mentioned that practicing with a boggart as a Dementor might have sped up her progress, but the only boggart they had was Cecile and he refused to act Dementor-ish against her.

Helen was worried that her problem was that she couldn't find a memory happy enough. She'd tried Quidditch victories, defeating Riddle last year, her first time on a broom, and humiliating the Dursleys this summer. She even tried her experience with the disappointing Mirror of Erised and her kiss with Draco. Nothing quite seemed to be working, although her best result had come from the memory of the first time she ever held her rosewood wand in her hand and the divine feeling of acceptance it gave her.

The Patronus didn't really work out until the second Gryffindor Quidditch match of the year. Thankfully, McGonagall returned the Firebolt in time- curse free- and Helen was ready to win. She had been racing after the Snitch against the Ravenclaw Seeker, a pretty girl named Cho Chang, when she saw three large cloaks drifting toward the field. She whipped out her wand, thought clearly of her first trip to Diagon Alley, when Hagrid saved her, screamed 'Expecto Patronum' and made a dive for the Snitch. A form she couldn't quite make out erupted from the tip of her wand as she snatched the Snitch.

As it turned out, there hadn't really been Dementors at all. Three older Ravenclaw boys were under the cloaks, trying to freak her out so Cho could snag the Snitch from under her. Helen was surprised it was Ravenclaws pulling this move of all people. It was a very Slytherin thing to do.

The after-party was fantastic thanks to the Weasley twins. They had snuck into Hogsmeade and returned with sweets and Butterbeer, as well as a few prank products and indoor fireworks. The only low point of the party was Ron screaming at a strained Hermione that Crookshanks had finally killed Scabbers and he'd never forgive her. Hermione, who had looked one wrong word away from a break down, had screamed back that it wasn't her fault before running up to the dorm.

This incident was eclipsed, however, by Sirius Black attacking Ron that night. The redhead had been a stuttering pile of nerves for all of twenty minutes before he began to enjoy the attention of surviving an encounter with a mass murderer. It was a little annoying. Helen sort of understood the thrill of attention, but she'd never really though it worth all the encounters she'd had with mass murderers. She was rather peeved that she'd been so close to Black again and had yet to face him and also a little disconcerted by the whole event because it just didn't make any sense.

What motivation could Sirius Black have for sneaking into the Gryffindor boy's dorm with a knife? She was under the impression that he was trying to finish what his Master started and kill her. Had Azkaban rattled his brains so much that he thought she was a boy? Or did he have another reason for breaking into Gryffindor Tower? If he did, Helen really didn't know what it was. All he really accomplished was giving Ron a story to share a thousand times the next day, and getting Neville a month's worth of detention for leaving a list of the Tower's passwords around.

A few day's later, Helen and Hermione went down to Hagrid's hut for tea. Hermione and Ron weren't talking due to this Scabbers nonsense and Helen just wanted a break from another rendition of how Sirius Black had slashed his curtains. Hagrid made an excellent cup of tea, although his rock cakes left much to be desired. Not that she'd tell him this, of course, but her pockets were getting rather heavy from hiding the ones she 'ate.'

While at the hut, she also took a moment to visit Buckbeack. Haughty, proud and regal the Hippogriff looked just the same as when she'd rode him at the beginning of the year. The other hippogriffs had gone on to join a reservation, but Buckbeak remained stubbornly at Hogwarts, refusing to leave. Helen could commiserate, she didn't want to leave Hogwarts either. Unfortunately, the semester was fast approaching completion and she had failed to make any concrete plans for the summer. She _really_ didn't want to return to the Dursley's, especially since her attack on their reputation this past summer. It was bound to end poorly for everyone involved.

The next Hogsmeade trip rolled around, significant only because Helen actually got caught sneaking out with the map. Lupin, the one to discover her, had been extremely disappointed in her and given her a heated lecture about gambling with her safety while Black was on the loose before confiscating the Marauder's Map. Helen actually felt rather ashamed. She didn't think she had a lot to fear from Sirius Black (if anything he should fear her retribution) but she hated disappointing Remus like that. He was one of a very small number of adults she looked up too, and she didn't want him upset with her.

She didn't have too terribly long to sulk about it, however, because the end of the year tests were encroaching and Helen was fighting a battle on all sides to overcome her dyslexia, mediate between Ron and Hermione who were still barely talking to each other, and prevent Hermione from spiraling into a mental breakdown. She'd already lost ground on the third front, considering Hermione's bombastic rejection of Divination.

Some days Helen had to retreat to the Slytherin Common Room for peace and quiet in order to prevent breaking something in the Lion's Den. Or someone. The Slytherins, in their usual style, were unbearably smug about her taking refuge amongst them. Draco and Theo went so far as to make pointed comments about it in front of Ron, which Helen didn't appreciate because it made her mediation more difficult if he was angry at her as well as Hermione.

Unfortunately, Helen couldn't visit the entire week leading up to their final Quidditch match on both Wood's and Flint's orders. Oliver was afraid the Slytherin's would try and hurt her so Gryffindor had to forfeit. Marcus was afraid she'd charm or intimidate some of his players into divulging their strategies to her. Helen could appreciate not being underestimated.

When the match finally occurred, it was one of the dirtiest games played at Hogwarts in years. Katie was knocked clean off her broom and into the Hospital Wing three minutes in by the Slytherin Beaters. Fred and George started throwing elbows in retaliation, even managing to crack one of the Slytherin Chaser's noses, before that same Chaser slammed Oliver into the hoops on 'accident.' Helen and Draco were honestly no better, friendship aside. He trailed her, she tried to shove him off, he grabbed her broom, and she kicked him in the hand. In the end, the Nimbus 2001 was no match for the Firebolt and Helen sped her way into her third Quidditch Cup victory.

Exams occurred the week afterward, and Helen was pretty confident in her grades. She still found Herbology distasteful and History boring, and couldn't wait until they took their OWLs so she could opt out of them for her NEWT courses.

Ron, on the other hand, had returned from his Divination exam looking absolutely rattled.

"That barmy old woman grabbed me when I was leaving my test and she said, well, I can't remember all of it. But something about You-Know-Who's servant helping him rise 'more terrible than ever before,'" Ron confided, looking pale and nervous.

Hermione scoffed openly, claiming Trelawney to be nothing more than a fear-mongering fraud. Helen agreed, although she couldn't help but imagine Sirius Black, twisted and mad from his time in Azkaban, throwing himself at the feet of the wraith she'd met her first year. The vision sent a delicate shiver down her spine.

Hermione's open dismissal of Ron's fear would have kindled another argument between them if not for the timely arrival of a post owl with a note for Ron.

"It's from Hagrid. He says he found Scabbers!" he cheered, already sweeping from the Common Room with Helen and Hermione struggling to keep up.

The redhead sprinted across the lawn, with Helen a step behind him and Hermione further back, yelling at them to slow down and demanding an apology for accusing her cat of killing Scabbers.

Ron, more cheerful then Helen had seen in a while, shouted back his apology, a quick and inelegant 'sorry, Mione!' but didn't slow down. Helen felt the apology wasn't really equal to all the terrible things they've said back and forth to each other this year, but it was up to Hermione to decide if it was good enough. By the look on her face: not even close.

"There yah are. I got 'im right over 'ere, found 'im in my sugar bowl," Hagrid rumbled in greeting, delicately extracting the squeaking and twisting rodent from said bowl and handing his struggling form to Ron.

Scabbers looked terrible. He was paunchy in the way that losing a lot of weight in a short amount of time made you. He was missing chunks of grey fur where tufts had fallen out, and his beady rodent eyes were nearly popping out in animal panic. Helen looked around to make sure Crookshanks wasn't in the room ready to pounce and scaring the stupid creature.

"Thank you, Hagrid! I've been looking for him everywhere!" Ron exclaimed, while struggling to keep a proper hold on his pets wriggling form.

"It was no trouble, Ron. You migh' wanna be thinking abou' gettin' 'im some rat tonic the next time yah go to Diagon. Poor little fellow s'not looking too good," Hagrid advised.

Ron nodded eagerly, while Helen gave her big friend a sincere smile and thanked him as well. Hagrid had single-handedly solved a problem that had been plaguing her for an entire semester- that of Ron and Hermione's feud. She could always count on him.

They stayed and chatted with Hagrid for a few minutes (which included Ron giving Hermione a better apology) but Scabbers was twisting and turning far too much and they decided to go back to the tower so Ron could put him in his 'cage' (which was actually a small box with holes cut into it).

They never made it to the tower.

They were halfway across the lawn while Scabbers was biting at Ron's hand in aggravation when a dark blur went rocketing straight for them. Helen didn't even have time to rip her rose-shaped clip out of her hair before Ron's right arm was in the slobbering jaws of the emaciated black dog she'd seen on Privet Drive after a different dog had attacked her that past summer.

Ron shouted in pain as he was drug off by the dog, Scabbers still desperately clutched in his left hand.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, while Helen was already running after her friend, ready to put down another unnatural hound. And she would have, if the Whomping Willow hadn't smacked her in the face.

Helen went down hard in surprise, while Ron was screaming for help and being dragged into a hollow at the base of the tree. He hooked his leg around one of the roots, hoping the dog would give up and let him go, but all it gained him was the sickening crack of a broken leg. Ron screamed in biting pain and disappeared from sight with the monster dog and Scabbers.

Helen rolled out of the way as another branch flung itself at her. It smacked hard into the ground, spraying Helen with displaced dirt. She heard a startled yelp as Hermione was knocked away by a separate branch, thankfully falling out of the tree's reach. Helen scrambled to join her.

"Do you know any spells to stop a tree with anger management issues?" Helen asked Hermione.

"No, no I don't," Hermione replied bleakly.

Helen settled herself into a running stance, preparing for a desperate sprint to the hollow that'd probably include a lot of splinters, when a streak of orange passed her.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione called after her wayward cat. Helen grimaced, thinking she was going to have to add 'save cat' to her long list of things to do today.

Before Helen could even attempt that, however, the ginger beast pressed one paw into a knot on the tree right next to the hollow. The Willow shuddered and tensed, before going completely rigid like a normal tree. Helen blinked bemusedly.

"Crookshanks?" Hermione questioned as the cat slipped into the hollow and disappeared the same way as Ron and the dog.

Helen ran after him, taking advantage of the tree's unnatural stillness and sliding after the cat. The hollow was an opening to a dark and dank earth tunnel. Helen grimaced, suddenly remembering this passage from the Marauder's Map. It led to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.

Helen and Hermione made their way down the tunnel, crouched over to avoid hitting the low ceiling. Helen had her wand out and producing a low light to lead their way. Her other hand was prepared to go for the Sword of Gryffindor at any moment. If spells failed, she'd handle that dog like the one from Privet Drive.

When Helen and Hermione emerged on the first floor of the Shack, they were greeted with an array of dusty furniture. Ugly wallpaper was peeling off the walls and there were deep gouges in the wooden floor that made the hair on the back of Helen's neck rise.

There was a thumping sound above them; Helen and Hermione looked at each other. Helen noticed how nervous Hermione looked, lips pinched with anxiety. Helen tried to give her friend an encouraging smile before heading toward the stairs and up to the second floor, Hermione right behind her.

There was a door gaping open at the end of the hall, and Helen and Hermione headed that way. They slipped in to see Ron, pale faced with pain, laying awkwardly on a dusty, half collapsed bed with Crookshanks next to him. Ron's eyes widened as soon as he saw them,

"It's a trap! He's an Animagus! It's him, it's Sirius Black!" Ron cried in distress.

Helen gasped sharply and whirled around as the door to the room slammed shut behind her and Hermione, revealing the notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black.

He was… ragged. His hair, as black as his name and curly, fell to his elbows in disgusting tufts and snags. His skin and teeth were an unhealthy yellow, and he was so skinny his face resembled a skull more than anything. His eyes were bugged and tinged with desperation and mania. He was also wielding Ron's wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Helen barked; disarming the convict almost too easily considering how much trouble he'd caused the Ministry. Ron's wand went flying into her hand and she looked on Black's surprised form with ice in her eyes, her own wand pointed straight at his head.

"I've been waiting for this," she hissed, looking the man who betrayed her parents right in his grey eyes. Liar. Traitor. She'd make him suffer.

"Helen," Sirius Black rasped, all his attention on her, "you have Lily's eyes. James' features. Just like your parents…"

"Shut up! You don't get to talk about them! You got them killed!" she yelled, wand twitching. She was so upset she didn't know what to do. Blood was rushing through her ears and her hand trembled in rage, grief and indecision. There was a part of her that wanted to kill him, to see him dead at her feet. But there was another part that hesitated. This wasn't like it was with Quirrell first year. He hadn't attacked her yet. It wasn't self-defense; it was murder.

"I did get them killed. It was my fault. But I wasn't the one to betray them," Sirius rasped, an ugly look crossing his hollow face toward the end.

He must have been mad; Azkaban had rattled his brains. He just wasn't making any sense.

Before Helen could question him about his ramblings or find a way to shut him up, the door to the room flew open to reveal Professor Lupin. Helen felt an odd combination of relief and disappointment. Now she didn't have to make the choice to kill an unarmed man. The decision was out of her hands. Unfortunately, it limited whatever capacity she had to avenge her parents.

"Professor Lupin," Hermione breathed with immense gratitude.

Short-lived gratitude as a second later Lupin had non-verbally disarmed her and Helen before looking toward Black.

"I saw… on the map… is it true? Is he really alive? That would mean…" he looked at Black with wondering eyes. Black nodded solemnly.

"Yes. I went after him all those years ago because _he_ was the traitor. _He_ got them killed," Black affirmed; voice still a rasped mess and attention entirely on Lupin.

They hugged, hitting each other's backs and releasing a stream of mumbled words and twisted apologies. Lupin handed a wand to Black -Helen's- and Helen felt her temper rise higher than she could remember.

" I TRUSTED YOU!" she shrieked at Lupin taking her hair clip out and preparing to turn it into a sword at a moments notice. "I kept your secret! I confided in you! How _dare_ you presume to tell me about what great people my parents were and then cuddle up to the man who _sent them to their deaths_! Lying, traitorous _werewolf_!"

Her rant seemed to hit Lupin, who flinched when she spat out the word werewolf with all the disgust she could manage. She heard Ron gasp in shock but Hermione was surprisingly silent. Perhaps she'd already known?

"Helen, please, I swear I would never betray you. This isn't what it looks like, Sirius didn't betray your parents," Lupin pleaded, looking rather upset by her anger. Black seemed largely unaffected.

"Bullshit! Lucius told me all about it months ago! About how _he_ was my father's best friend and my godfather and about how he sold us out to Voldemort!" Helen returned, jabbing her finger at Black who suddenly looked a bit annoyed.

"What are you doing talking to Lucius Malfoy?" he demanded, as if that was at all relevant to their current discussion.

"He's the one who told me all about an Azkaban escapee coming to finish the job," she replied coldly.

"Helen, it's not what you think. Let me explain," Lupin pleaded.

He proceeded to tell a story, the sad tale of the Marauder's: three Animagi and a werewolf, who were ripped apart on one dark Halloween. Lupin was just explaining the cruel prank Sirius played on Professor Snape, which Helen's father had saved him from, when the mentioned Professor appeared- banishing his Disillusionment Charm.

Helen would always maintain that Slytherin's had the best dramatic entrances.

A few quick wand movements disarmed Lupin and Black, sending four wands flying. Hermione's, Lupin's and Ron's went toward the bed while Helen's went flying at Hermione who caught it clumsily.

"Look what we have here, a werewolf and an escaped convict holding students at wand point. I told Dumbledore you couldn't be trusted," he drawled, wand raised, probably for a nasty curse.

"Wait, Professor, they were just explaining-" Helen tried to argue, wanting to know exactly why Black and Lupin swore Black was innocent, but was cut off.

"Expelliarmus!"

Now, if Hermione had wielded anyone else's wand, the spell probably would have safely disarmed Snape, leading to quite a few points from Gryffindor taken, but no harm done. However, Hermione had used Helen's wand. A wand that Garrick Ollivander had cautioned Helen not to let anyone else wield. Rosewood and Drakon heartstring were temperamental on the best of days, and together made a wand that worked wonderfully for it's chosen witch and volatilely for anyone else.

A streak of red left Helen's wand, hit Snape dead in the chest, and bashed him off his feet and into the wall with a dangerous amount of force, knocking him out cold. The room blinked in stunned silence.

"Blimey Hermione! You'll never pass Potion's now," Ron exclaimed, eyes wide with awe. Hermione paled drastically, looking stunned.

"I… I just wanted him to _listen_ , to find out the truth. It wasn't supposed to…"

Hermione dropped Helen's wand with numb fingers. Helen scooped it up and sent her friend an irritated glance.

"We could've talked to him, he wasn't aiming at us," she scolded mildly, before turning her wand back on Lupin and Black who had been edging toward the bed and the other wands. They stopped at her deadpan stare. Finally, the power in the room was hers once more.

"You were saying."

Lupin and Black talked more quickly after that. They spoke of Peter Pettigrew, his status as the Potter's real Secret Keeper while Sirius played the diversion. Sirius seemed rather bitter recalling how clever he had thought he was, pulling the wool over everyone's eyes, even his own. He almost sounded as bitter as Lupin when he mentioned that he was the suspected leak on the Light Side.

The piéce de résistance was Sirius' manhunt for Peter, and how it ended with a pile of dead Muggles and his incarceration without a trial. All that had remained of Peter, according to Sirius, was a finger because he cut it off before escaping in his Animagus form of a rat. And that rat, apparently, was Scabbers whom Black had seen in a newspaper photo in Azkaban that depicted the Weasley's after Arthur won a Galleon draw over the summer. That was why he escaped, why he came to Hogwarts, why he went to the Gryffindor boy's dormitory.

From Black's perspective, all the weird happenings and the timeline started to make a lot of sense. Helen was positive Black believed in everything he said. She was also sure that prolonged exposure to Dementor's could drive one around the bend. The whole story could just be a figment of his twisted imagination, exacerbated by guilt for his betrayal. Helen had to be sure.

"Ron, give me Scabbers," she demanded. Ron clutched tighter to his pet.

"Have you gone as barmy as them? Scabbers is a rat, he can't be-"

"If he's just a rat the spell won't hurt him, Ron. If he's an Animagus it'll turn him back. I've discussed the spell with McGonagall. Hand him here," she repeated.

"But Animagi aren't part of the third year curriculum," Hermione protested. "When would you have-"

"Not the time," Helen cut her off, not in the mood to reveal her extra lessons or the subsequent lecture that would result from not telling Hermione. "Ron. Rat Now."

In the end, Ron's compliance didn't matter because Scabbers, who had been struggling in his grip for nearly the entire confrontation, bit Ron and made a desperate bid for freedom. Helen caught him before he got anywhere near the door.

"Animus Revelio!"

A flash of blue light left her wand and struck the rat, which started morphing before their eyes; until a small balding man with watery blue eyes and a pointed face that could only be described as _rat-like_ stood where a dingy rodent had been before.

Helen trained her wand on the short, disgusting little man, and jerked her chin from Lupin to the three discarded wands. He got her message and scooped them up, reclaiming his own, giving Sirius Ron's, and tossing Hermione hers.

"Hello, Peter," Lupin said mildly, false pleasantries dripping from his tongue as his eyes glowed an inhuman gold. The werewolf had come out to play.

"Remus, Sirius… my old friends," Pettigrew squeaked, his voice rather nasal.

"Shut up! Shut up you traitor! I'll kill you! I'll kill you for what you did to Lily and James," Sirius barked, eyes smoldering with a madness that had been rather absent up to this point.

"Sirius, please, understand-" he begged. Lupin was having none of it.

"Did you or did you not sell out James and Lily to Voldemort?" Remus demanded. Pettigrew, who Helen wasn't sure could seem more pathetic, began to cry big, wailing sobs, proving her wrong.

"You don't understand the _power_ the Dark Lord has. The pain he could inflict. He would have killed me, what was I supposed to do?"

"You should have died! Died instead of betraying your friends! Like we would have done for you," Sirius yelled, looking seconds away from strangling the rat with his bare hands.

Pettigrew, sensing there was no mercy coming from that end, threw himself down at Helen's feet.

"Please, Helen, beautiful, forgiving, compassionate Helen. So like your parents. They would have forgiven me. Helped me. _Please_ ," he begged. Helen felt the anger that came to easily to her sometimes rise up. It was the same feeling that Vernon had summoned this summer when he tried to hit her. The same feeling from first year when she came face-to-face with Voldemort's wraith. That bubbling rage that made her want to lash out and _hurt something_.

She kicked him in the ribs. Hard. She'd never been so thankful for her dragon-hide boots before. He squawked in pain as Helen looked down at him coldly.

"We don't know if they would have forgiven you. We'll never know because they're _dead_. They're dead because you are a useless, sniveling _coward_."

Pettigrew crawled to get away from her, heading toward the dusty bed.

"Please, Ron, I've been a good pet, a good rat…" he begged, grasping at straws. Ron looked distinctly ill.

"I let you share a bed with me…" he moaned in horror, face green. Helen felt very bad for her friend. That realization was positively traumatic.

Sirius at that point had had enough. He sent a gagging curse at the man to shut him up, and then raised his wand again, most likely for something fatal or maiming. Helen didn't really care which. She had hesitated with Sirius, feeling guilty that he was unarmed and hadn't attacked her yet. She wouldn't hesitate now, knowing how good Pettigrew was at hiding, knowing he'd been there for years, her parents betrayer, being coddled as a house pet. This was more than vengeance. This was justice.

"Wait!" Hermione cried before any spell could leave his lips. "Don't kill him."

Sirius gave her a disgruntled look.

"He's killed over a dozen people, cuddled up with Death Eaters. Why shouldn't I…?"

"Because you can't prove your innocence if he's dead. He dies and the truth dies with him. You'll never be free," Hermione argued, probably the only one still thinking logically at this point. Helen pressed her lips together in displeasure. Hermione had a point.

Helen wanted to argue despite the logic, but a thought occurred to her. She didn't know her parents, not the way a child should. But she'd heard Remus' stories of her parents, as well as other stories from the Professors. She was almost positive Pettigrew was wrong and her parents wouldn't have forgiven him.

But she was also sure that they'd want her to do everything in her power to free Sirius Black. He was her father's best friend, an innocent man, and if her parents were half as loyal to their friends as Lupin described, they'd want her to place Sirius' justice over revenge. They'd want her to do what was right.

"She has a point, Sirius," Lupin agreed with Hermione, seemingly reluctant. Sirius gritted his teeth in frustration, but didn't cast anything. Helen sighed before giving a sharp nod, consenting to forego vigilante justice _this time_.

Pettigrew began muffled sobbing in abject relief, and despite her resolution not to kill Pettigrew; she couldn't let him feel any sort of relief. She leaned in close to his face with her darkest sneer.

"I wouldn't be so pleased if I was you. You may have been given a little extra time, but you are far from forgiven. I'm going to use every connection, every bit of political clout being the Girl-Who-Lived affords me to get the worst sentence for you possible. I hope you like Dementor's, because I will do everything in my power to see you Kissing one rather soon. Maybe they'll even let me watch."

Pettigrew started to wail and wriggle through his gag, terrified beyond belief. Helen looked at him frostily, and then turned away in a dispassionate dismissal, a move that Narcissa taught her over the summer so 'everyone below her can be reminded of their place.' Narcissa was great at it, and Helen was pretty sure she had just pulled it off.

Lupin stunned Pettigrew before beginning to levitate him out the door. Sirius followed closely, keeping a determined eye on their captive. Helen and Hermione hoisted Ron between the two of them carefully and followed with Crookshanks taking up the rear. Helen sent a slightly guilty look at her fallen Professor and silently promised to send help as soon as they made it back to the castle. She could try levitating him, but she wasn't as confident in her Charm work as she was in her Transfiguration, and she was pretty sure you weren't supposed to move people with head injuries around too much.

The walk through the secret passage was awkward, considering Ron was dead weight and hard to maneuver, but eventually they all emerged in one piece as Crookshanks deactivated the Willow so their odd procession could emerge onto the night darkened grounds. Sirius Black moved until he was standing beside her, although his eyes were still on Pettigrew.

"So, you know I'm your godfather, from Lucius bloody Malfoy, of all people," he commented out of the blue. Helen raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"Uh, yes?" she answered questioningly, wondering what he was getting at.

"When we turn in Pettigrew, I'll be free, and, well, I was wondering if you might want to come stay with me? I mean, you're probably happy with your Aunt and Uncle, you don't have to. I just thought I'd offer, because, I would have raised you if I hadn't gone to Azkaban, you know?"

He was babbling, seemingly nervous and the sanest Helen had seen him yet. Helen would be lying if she said something warm didn't flare up in her chest at the offer. Her relatives despised her, never wanted her and never let her forget it. To know that a close friend of her parents _wanted_ to take care of her was an indescribable feeling for the orphan.

Sure, he was rough around the edges and by Merlin did he need a haircut and a sandwich, but Helen's imagination captured the idea of a Dursley free summer. Not to mention, she still hadn't secured alternate plans for the coming vacation. She wasn't stupid, she knew there would be logistical issues (could escaped convicts own houses? Could he afford to take care of them?) but they could figure those out later.

"Trust me, I'd be happier staying with an escaped convict than the Dursley's any day," she informed him with a smirk that boarded a smile. Sirius sent a blinding grin back. It made him seem more alive.

"Sounds like a plan," he replied happily.

Any happiness was quickly drained from the situation when the clouds overhead parted to reveal a full moon and Professor Lupin started to groan in pain.

"Moony, did you take your potion?" Sirius asked urgently, rushing up to hold up the twitching Professor. Pettigrew was dropped carelessly to the ground as Lupin lost control of the spell.

"Moony?!" Sirius repeated urgently, but was shoved away by the inhuman strength of the now morphing werewolf.

He was only half-transformed, but Helen could already see the animal aggression glinting in his golden eyes. Lupin hadn't taken his Wolfsbane Potion and they were all about to pay for it.

"What did you brats think you were doing?" growled the newly arrived voice of Professor Snape that had just joined up with them, looking pale and furious. Any rant he was preparing to deliver however was cut off when he noticed the transforming werewolf four meters ahead of them.

He threw his arms out, bodily protecting them from the approaching Dark creature. The wolf reared back, looking prepared to slash at him until a big black dog bowled into his side, knocking the wolf away from them.

Sirius, in his Animagus form, was nipping and barking at the wolf, distracting it and thankfully leading it into the woods. Helen turned away from him to check on where Pettigrew's stunned form was, but he was gone. She saw a small rustle of grass and leaves at the edge of the forest- the kind made by a living creature.

"No!" she yelled, dropping Ron's arm regretfully but racing toward the forest. She ignored the cries from her friends and Professor to come back. She _couldn't_ let Pettigrew get away. Not after all he'd done. Not when he still threatened Sirius' freedom. She needed him to face justice for killing her family and sentencing her to ten years and two summers with the Dursley's.

She plunged into the forest, not sure where the rat had gone beyond this point. She saw a broken log splintered on the forest and decided to put her Transfiguration skills to good use. With a few well-chosen words and a swish of her wand, a wood-brown hunting dog stood at her side.

"Find the rat."

The Transfigured animal plunged into the forest with Helen right behind, Sword of Gryffindor at the ready.

XXXXXXXXXX

Zoë Nightshade was less than happy. She should be at her Lady's side, presiding over the Hunters. She should be protecting them, helping them, hunting with them: all in the name of her goddess. Instead, she was stomping through a magical Scottish forest hunting alone.

The reason was simple. She hadn't had a vacation in a century and Lady Artemis saw fit she 'take some time off.' Zoë had immediately protested, saying she didn't need 'relaxation' and would be much happier continuing as she was, but her Lady had been adamant, and sent her away from camp for no less than a fortnight. Zoë, unwilling to cross Artemis on anything, reluctantly backed down and left.

Still, she really had no idea what to do with herself. The only thing she really found relaxing was hunting, so that's what she decided to do. It had been awhile since she'd been to Europe, the West being firmly in America for the last few decades, so she decided to make a visit. England was only the first stop on her little tour, and all she'd managed to kill so far was a couple vehicle-sized spiders. Fortunately, tonight was a full moon, and all types of creatures liked to emerge amongst the glow of her Lady's chariot.

She didn't have to wait long until the telltale howl of a werewolf caught her attention and gave her a direction to start jogging in. She had run maybe half a mile through the woods when she heard the distinct rustle of a fast moving creature. She was a little surprised to have come across it so soon, having thought the howl was further away, but positioned her bow and knocked an arrow at any rate.

She was prepared for a large vicious werewolf, so was surprised when a brown hunting dog, not so different from the one's that traveled with the Hunters, burst through the tall grass and brush. She was even more surprised by the young maiden that followed, brandishing a gleaming gold sword and running with a speed and grace that was a step above ordinary. Zoë had been alive long enough to recognize a demigoddess when she saw one. A Roman one, it would seem, by her Imperial Gold sword.

The maiden noticed her, momentarily distracted from her pursuit of the hunting dog into the forest by the immediate threat Zoë presented. Her gaze locked onto the loaded bow in Zoë's hands, and she immediately became defensive, bending her knees and brandishing her sword threateningly.

Zoë took a moment to observe her before lowering her weapon. The maiden held her sword a bit stiffly and with a less efficient grip, so she was either untrained or unpracticed in wielding her weapon, but her stance suggested the raw talent one could expect of a demigoddess. Her dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, and startlingly green eyes stared her down suspiciously. Zoë couldn't easily determine her parentage by looks alone, plenty of gods had dark hair and she'd never met one with eyes that shade.

The girl was quite pretty, but Zoe had never cared much about that. She'd met a plethora of the most beautiful beings to exist over the years; one more left almost no impression. What impressed Zoë was the ferocity of her gaze, the way her unique eyes bored into Zoë as a perceived threat. That kind of focus could be valued in a Hunter. There was no bad time for recruitment.

"Peace, maiden," Zoë commanded neutrally, lowering her bow completely. The maiden didn't follow her example.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in the Forbidden Forest?" she asked defensively. Zoë didn't rise to her tone.

"My name is Zoë Nightshade, and I am the Lieutenant of the Hunters of… Diana," Zoë finished.

Technically, the Hunters were allowed to know about the dichotomy of the gods. Zoë had stood by her Lady's side as she was twisted with the rise of the Roman Empire, and served Diana as faithfully as she served Artemis. However, she had to step lightly when recruiting. If this girl denied joining and some day made it to the Roman Camp, she could spread tales of Greek counterparts and that was unacceptable. The gods had separated the camps for a reason, and she would respect their wisdom in that decision.

"Hunters of Diana?" the girl questioned, both eyebrows raised and emphasizing a curious lightning bolt scar on her forehead. Perhaps the girl was a Daughter of Jupiter? Born despite the pact and hidden away in England? It wasn't inconceivable to imagine Lord Jupiter stamping his symbol into something he considered his, although the wisdom of such a decision was suspect considering his wife and brothers. It had only been a few years since the demise of that foolish Daughter of Zeus.

"Yes. We serve Lady Diana as her Hunters and companions, traveling and killing monsters at her command," Zoë explained proudly. The Hunter's was her very long life's work and Lady Artemis her savior and patron. She was very proud. "What might your name be, maiden?"

"Uh, Helen Potter," she supplied, seemingly bemused. Zoë had the sudden worrying thought that maybe the girl wasn't aware of her status as a demigoddess. The sword seemed to contradict that, but more than a handful of half-bloods ended up with weapons through luck and desperation before knowing why monsters were constantly attacking them. This could quite possibly be one of those cases. This called for an informational pamphlet.

"It is a pleasure, Helen Potter," Zoë said politely as she pulled a pamphlet out of one of her silver jacket pockets. She gave it a harsh shake and all of the references to Artemis magically morphed to the name Diana. She than handed it to Helen who took it politely, still seemingly bemused, until her eyes suddenly widened in some realization,

"Have you seen a rat pass through here?" she asked quickly, her voice a tad harsh. It was Zoë's turn for confusion.

"Pardon?"

"A rat! Grey, fat, missing part of its paw? Is actually a middle-aged man that I intend to castrate when I get my hands on him?" she asked, her eyes darting around the darkness. Her hunting dog was long gone, and Zoë could see frustration on her face.

"No, I haven't seen a male, nor a rat. Although, if you require assistance with the castration; I would be pleased to join you on your hunt. I'm quite an accomplished tracker," Zoë offered. As a nymph, she had heard of far stranger things than a man turning into a rat (it even seemed rather fitting to her) and she was in a magical forest near one of Hecate's schools, so much beyond mortal limitations was possible.

Zoë never got an answer, for at the moment the werewolf she'd been trying to find decided to make an appearance. It burst from the underbrush, growling and taking a swipe at Helen, who dove out of the way at the last second. Zoë pulled up her bow and took aim for the creature's heart as it made another swipe for the maiden.

"Wait! Don't shoot! He's a family friend!" she cried as she dove once more from the hungering beast. Zoë sputtered in surprise.

"Friend? It's a ravenous beast!"

"Only during his time of the month," Helen countered, making a swipe for the beast's ankle, but unable to get close enough.

Zoë was rather torn. It was against her nature and centuries of training to let a monster live so it might try and hurt someone else. But she wasn't without compassion or restraint. Securing the beast until her Lady finished her journey across the night's sky wasn't beyond her capabilities, if nothing else it would be a good display of her skill to subdue the werewolf without killing it. She huffed and made her decision.

A silver arrow soared through the air just as Helen managed to pierce it in it's thigh. It yipped in pain, but before it could retaliate the arrow lodged itself in the werewolf's shoulder- a painful but non-lethal hit that took the beast to the ground.

"Thank you," Helen said gratefully, panting slightly from the adrenalin rush.

Before Zoë could reply, she was interrupted again, this time by a terrified male scream.

"Sirius!" Helen yelled, taking a few steps toward the shout before hesitating and looking back at Zoë. She seemed torn, wanting to go to the person in distress, this 'Sirius' but unwilling to leave her alone with a werewolf that was starting to gather itself together again. Zoë made the decision for her.

"Go. I can make sure the wolf doesn't hurt anyone without killing it. Go help this 'Sirius,'" she commanded softly. Helen gave her a sincerely grateful smile.

"Thank you, Zoë Nightshade," she said before running toward the scream.

"Read the pamphlet!" Zoë called after her.

She was no oracle, but she had the distinct feeling that one day she'd meet Helen Potter again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Sirius' screams lead Helen to the edge of the lake, and a terror like no other. Dozens and dozens of Dementors were swarming the area, occasionally swooping down close to the unmoving form collapsed on the shore that could be no one but Sirius. The atmosphere was freezing and the enraged hisses of a blind basilisk and the pained screams of a man burning alive by her touch echoed in the back of her head.

Her wand was out, her sword back to a clip but she had neither the time nor the energy to put it back in her hair. She staggered toward Sirius' form; the burden of the cold and the feeling of misery ( _unwanted, unloved, lonely_ ) were like a physical weight on her shoulders.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A shield of white burst from her wand tip, but fizzled out nearly as quickly as it came.

"Expecto Patronum… Epecto… Expect-"

Helen collapsed with her mother's voice ringing in her ears begging for Helen's life. As darkness overtook her, she could have sworn she saw a burst of white prance across the lake.

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen awoke to a splitting headache and lethargy that seemed to pervade every cell of her body. People are speaking in the background; she could distinctly make out Professor Snape and another voice she'd never heard before. She groaned and the room went silent.

"Miss Potter?" inquires the silky tones of her Potions Professor.

"I'm alive," she murmured, more to inform him she's conscious than anything else. Her snarkiest Professor snorts in return.

"Barely. Not many are found alive in a clearing with acute Dementor exposure laying next to a mass murderer while a werewolf runs through the forest," he replies, voice snide with the tiniest hint of relief around the edges.

"We always knew I was special," she said hoarsely.

"Indeed." Helen could practically hear the eye-roll in his voice.

"Thank Merlin you're all right, Miss Potter," the other man in the room blustered. He was a portly man, in a pinstriped dress robes and a dark green bowler hat that he was worrying in his hands.

"I'm sorry, who're you?" she asked blankly while pulling herself up into a sitting position. The bowler hat man blinked in surprise before he tripped over himself to explain.

"Terribly sorry, Miss Potter. How rude of me not to introduce myself. Where are my manners? I'm Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic," he introduced himself, sounding both nervous and pompous. She decided to stroke his ego a bit, if only to try and get a bit more information from him. She was very confused at the moment.

"Oh, I've heard of you. Lucius Malfoy mentioned you a couple times while I was visiting his son this summer," she offered. It was true, she also remembered Lucius calling him a simpering idiot, but that wouldn't help her here, even if it was kind of funny. Said idiot beamed in response.

"Yes, Lucius is a rather close acquaintance of mine," Fudge boasted.

"Not to be rude, Minister, but why are you here?" she asked, widening her eyes to take the edge off the rude question and make her seem just a touch more innocent. Fudge fell for it hook-line-and-sinker, but she could see Professor Snape's eyebrow raised in derision behind him.

"Ah yes, that. Well, thanks to your Professor, Sirius Black has been captured. I'm here to ensure his execution by Dementor's Kiss is fulfilled by dawn, and then we can get the Dementor's back to Azkaban where they belong," Fudge informed her, seemingly upbeat for a man talking about execution. It made sense in it's own way. Sirius Black's escape was an embarrassment that reflected poorly on the Ministry, a politician would be ecstatic to finally put it behind them.

"You can't," Helen said hurriedly, a note of urgency in her voice. She couldn't let Sirius be executed. "He didn't do it, he didn't betray my parents. It was Peter Pettigrew," she explained. The Minister looked at her pityingly.

"Ah, it's okay to be confused, Miss Potter. High exposure to Dementors has been known to cause that," he informed her gently. "You should probably get the matron," he suggested to Snape before wishing her a swift recovery and sweeping out of the Hospital Wing.

"Professor, I'm not confused. Sirius is innocent. Pettigrew was my parent's Secret Keeper, they just pretended it was Sirius. When they died Sirius went after Pettigrew and he killed all those muggles before faking his own death and leaving in his Animagus form: a rat. He's been living with the Weasleys as pet for years. Please, Professor, you have to believe me. He didn't do it," Helen explained in a rush, looking imploringly at one of her favorite teachers.

He stared at her for a long moment, and Helen could practically see the indecision in his dark eyes before he shut down all expression in his face.

"Miss Potter, you must realize how unbelievable this sounds," he began, voice flat.

"I know it sounds crazy Professor, but it's the truth. We had Peter at wand point and were bringing him to the castle but Professor Lupin shifted and he got away into the Forbidden Forest."

Speaking of the Forest, she hoped that odd girl, Zoë Nightshade, was okay. She'd certainly seemed capable enough with her bow and hunting knives. Apparently she was hunting in honor of the Roman goddess Diana, which Helen sort of remembered reading about in one of her mythology books earlier that year. She couldn't help but worry though; werewolf Remus had been vicious. Even still, she sincerely hoped Remus wasn't dead either.

"So your only proof escaped into the night like a ghost, so all that's left is the good word of a convict, a werewolf and three school children, one of which is suffering the trauma of over-exposure to Dementors?"

"It sounds pretty bad when you put it like that," Helen conceded.

Snape pinched the bridge of his lengthy nose, clenched his jaw and sighed.

"I'll speak to the Headmaster. Stay here," he commanded for sweeping out of the room with ten times the elegance of Fudge.

Helen flopped back into the pillows tiredly, hoping for a miracle. She saw her wand and hairclip on the stand next to her bed, and returned them to their proper places. Hermione sidled up to her fifteen minutes later, biting her lip and looking nervous. She apologized for not explaining with Helen, but didn't think Snape would take anything she had to say seriously. Apparently, he was rather… peeved about how she'd knocked him out in the shack. Ron was still unconscious further down the ward, his leg was on the mend but the potion's he'd had to take had knocked him out.

Another ten minutes passed before the brightly dressed form of Albus Dumbledore slipped into the Hospital Wing. Helen hadn't seen the Headmaster much since the previous year, when he'd unjustly absolved Ginny of her reign of terror, but he looked just the same. Just as old, just as poorly dressed, just as unaccountably cheerful.

"Hello Miss Potter, Miss Granger. I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news," he said, not nearly grave enough for the situation. "It would seem the Minister is quite determined to see Sirius Black Kissed. He doesn't think there need be any official sentencing or trial, because there is no proof to contradict a well-believed story. It's truly unfortunate, if only we had _more time_." He said the last part with an odd emphasis and a hard look at Hermione, whose mouth dropped into a little comprehending 'oh.'

"I suppose there is nothing for it," he continued, cutting off Helen who had an indignant rant on the tip of her tongue about how unhelpful he was. "I'll just leave you ladies to heal from your exciting night. Rest well," he offered bizarrely before making his exit and securing the Hospital Wing doors behind him.

"What is his problem?" Helen started, but was cut off by Hermione's arm gripping hers and beginning to pull her out of bed while the other pulled an odd gold necklace with an hourglass out from under her shirt.

"It's not a problem, Helen, it's a solution," she said, holding up her fancy necklace. "This is a time-turner. I've been using it to re-do hours and get to all my extra classes this year."

Helen felt her eyes bug out a bit.

"Wait, like time travel?" she asked, flabbergasted that they even had devices like that, let alone put them in the hands of thirteen-year-olds just so they could take a couple extra classes.

"Yes, exactly. Dumbledore must want us to go back a few hours and rescue Sirius," she explained, looping the chain around Helen's neck. Helen jerked back as it made contact with her skin. It just felt… heady and powerful but a touch malevolent too.

"Hermione, I'm not sure about this. Time… it's something that shouldn't be messed with," she said nervously. Even biting her lip. The whole thing just felt off to her, like they were messing with powers beyond their understanding.

"It'll be fine, Helen," Hermione said reassuringly. "As long as we don't encounter our past selves, everything should be fine. We just have to be really careful."

With that, Hermione turned the dial twice, and Helen was whisked away in a shower of gold and the feeling of eyes on the back of her neck.

XXXXXXXXXXX

In the deepest pit of the Underworld, an ancient creature shuddered as mortal invaders entered its domain. The one mortal, a witch, had been a frequent offender of dabbling within Time. A few instances he'd excuse, Hecate's community had the barest rights to the workings of Time as it pertained to magic. The continued uses and disregard for the linear (in this case) flow of Time, however, was amassing his ire. When power was within his grasp once more, he'd send a servant to punish her.

This terribly old being was far more intrigued by the passenger on the little jaunt through his domain. A half-blood witch for sure- powerful enough that on first thought, he suspected it was the daughter of one of his three oldest sons, a possible child of the prophecy. The more he sensed her, however, the more he doubted his first assumption. She was just _godlier_ than children of the Big Three tended to be. Her aura had a thicker feel of divinity about it; a Twice-Blessed Demigoddess than.

In the bowels of Tartarus, a rising evil smiled as it adjusted its plans to include the newest pawn on the board. It wouldn't be long now.

XXXXXXXXXX

Helen stumbled away from Hermione, when the twisting feeling ceased, ripping the time-turner from around her neck. _Never again._

Hermione was much calmer, and with a well-practiced air slipped the time-turner back under her shirt and away from sight.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked Helen, far too casually for someone who'd just bent the fabric of time to her whims. Helen tried to let it go and focus.

"Yes. Catch the bleeding rat so we'll have our proof," Helen answered automatically.

They set out quickly, trying to be stealthy and avoid as many people as possible. They made it out onto the grounds, and noticed a trio of figures at Hagrid's hut. Wanting to avoid detection they went into the Forbidden Forest to hide. They kept their eye on the Whomping Willow, watching Ron be attacked by Sirius. Hermione had to hold her back from charging in now and taking the rat. They couldn't reveal themselves to their past selves.

They stood and watched Remus enter the tree hurriedly, followed by Snape. Helen could feel more adrenaline pump into her otherwise exhausted body. Any minute now it would be time to act.

A grim procession exited the Willow's base, and Helen kept her eyes glued to Pettigrew. This is where she'd seen the rustle, this where he'd run to and she'd get him, by magic or force.

She watched Remus stagger as the change took him. Watched Pettigrew's body hit the ground. While everyone else's focus was on the werewolf, Helen watched as Pettigrew transformed into his rat form and ran… for the gates? She took a distracted step forward to go after him, but Hermione jerked her back, hissing about not being seen. She stumbled a bit, displacing a branch and rustling the grass. The other Helen saw the movement, looked right where they were barely concealed by shadows, and started charging in their direction.

"Shite!" Helen hissed, as she pulled Hermione along with her and started to run deeper into the forest. She had made a grievous mistake. Pettigrew had never been in the forest; Helen had seen the movement of herself and chased after her. By the time they got back to the lawn and away from their past selves, the rat would be long gone. She had failed.

They sprinted in the forest, trying to make the most out of their head start. Helen heard another rustle headed their way, prayed it was Zoë instead of Lupin, and pulled Hermione out of sight just as the self-proclaimed Huntress came into the gap of the forest. The armed stranger distracted the other Helen, and Helen and Hermione kept running, although Hermione was starting to pant in exhaustion. She really wasn't an athlete.

"What now?" Hermione panted, hands on her knees as they took a pause. The transfigured hunting dog caught up with them, but Helen re-transfigured it back into a log with a negligent flick of her wand before it could bark and give away their location.

"We'll have to break Sirius out if we can't clear his name," Helen said bleakly. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Sirius would be on the run, trying to avoid capture and Helen would loose a chance at a real home. The bitterness was powerful.

She winced as she heard the mad growls and shouts about forty meters behind them. The werewolf had found other Helen and Zoë. Then she remembered exactly how that encounter ended.

 _A scream… Dementors… a flash of bright light as the darkness took her…_

Helen suddenly had a feeling she knew exactly where that life saving Patronus had come from.

"Let's go, we have to save me," Helen said, twitching a bit at having to refer to herself as a separate entity.

They made it to the lake about two minutes before the other Helen and much further from the Dementors. They were still close enough to feel some effects (there were just so many of them, approximately a hundred) but it wasn't nearly as overwhelming as the first time.

They watched other Helen burst onto the scene, desperately trying to cast a Patronus but far too overwhelmed to do so.

Helen stepped forward brandishing her wand. She thought of the warmth in her chest as Sirius offered her a home.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A brilliant white light shone from her wand tip and Helen finally got to see the fully corporeal form of her glorious Patronus. A doe, graceful, agile and astoundingly quick galloped across the lake and charged the Dementors relentlessly. The wraiths were chased off, many twisting in agony as they floated away hurriedly. The doe galloped back and nudged Helen's out-stretched hand, sending a thrill of warmth and comfort up her arm before fading away.

"Helen, that was incredible," Hermione breathed in awe.

"Thanks," Helen said tiredly, feeling beyond exhausted now. "There's just one more thing we have to do."

Helen really didn't want to do it, but she couldn't think of anything better. Her and Hermione went to Hagrid's hut and more or less bird-napped Buckbeak so Sirius could ride off on him to (relative) freedom. She would have just given him her broom, but it would have been rather suspicious if her insanely rare and well-recognized broom went missing with an escaped convict that she had been rallying for earlier.

She sent Hagrid a silent apology, decided to do something nice for her friend, and took Buckbeack to the tower cell they were keeping Sirius in until his execution. Hermione blew the lock off with a well-aimed curse, and Sirius was free to make his escape.

"This isn't over, Sirius. That rat can't hide forever. He'll be found and you'll get your freedom back. I swear it," she promised solemnly.

Sirius smiled at her warmly, before pulling her into a hug. He stunk to high heaven and was dirty to the point of being crusty, but Helen still treasured that hug.

"I'm so proud of you, Helen, and I know your parents would be too," he whispered into her hair before pulling away. Helen would deny until the day she died that her eyes teared up at that.

"Be good Helen, but not too good," he said with a smirk as he clamored up onto Buckbeak. "Oh, and enjoy that broom. We didn't have brooms like that when I was a kid, would have made Quidditch a lot more fun," he mused, while Hermione mumbled 'I knew it!' and was ignored.

"We'll see each other again," he promised before taking off into the sunset astride a magnificent hippogriff. Slytherin's may have had the best entrances but Gryffindor's had the best exits.

Helen and Hermione made it back into the infirmary and collapsed into separate beds just in time to hear Fudge blubbering about Sirius escaping again. Helen smirked as she fell into the sleep of the truly exhausted.

XXXXXXXXXX

The end of the year was marked with the loss of another Defense Professor. Snape had enough of a moral compass not to fight for an innocent man to get his soul sucked out (only because Helen begged really) but that same compass (along with a dash of bitterness) lead him to revealing Lupin's status as a werewolf to all the Slytherins who told their parents who told the Board of Governors to sack him.

Helen was a little peeved, but having become the closest to getting killed by Professor Lupin that night, kept her mouth shut. She was also secretly hoping he would seek out Sirius and help him recover now that he was unemployed. Even Lupin didn't seem too terribly upset. He had a resigned air about him-being used to being fired for his condition, but was also still pretty beat up from Zoë's treatment of him. His shoulder was in a sling and he looked like he could use a really long nap. Time off, even of the forced permanent variety, would do him good.

Remus left Helen two great gifts as he left. One was the Marauder's Map, which he called an inheritance, and the other was Cecile. There was a gleam of mischief in his amber eyes when he deposited the trunk at her feet, but Helen was pretty excited. She knew exactly where to put him.

Two hours later, after a set of heart-felt goodbyes and a final cup of tea, the abandoned third floor corridor became the home and playground of a boggart named Cecile for the foreseeable future. She promised to visit her 'nephew' next year, and headed for the Hogwart's Express.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Helen!" called a cultured voice behind her on the train platform. Helen was looking around for her detestable relatives, having found no true alternative to staying at Privet Drive this summer. They didn't seem to be there, and she was going to have to catch another train or a bus to get to Surrey, which was highly annoying.

She turned to the voice, and saw Draco standing there, his parents a few paces behind him.

"I just talked to my father," he started excitably, not even waiting for her to greet him in return. "He said Cornelius Fudge offered us an extra-seat in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup for you. He said you mentioned our acquaintance when you met this year."

"Wait, I can go with you to the Cup?" she asked excitably. Unfortunately, she couldn't stay with Draco this summer because they were going to France to care for his ailing grandfather Abraxas (by care he meant that house-elves would do the work and they'd keep the Malfoy patriarch company). But getting to go with him to the Cup would definitely be something to look forward to.

"Yes, it'll be great!" he said cheerfully. His father made a little cough and Draco instantly calmed down- reminded of 'proper decorum in public.' "I'd be honored if you'd join us," he said more formally. Helen gave her friend a smile.

"I'd love to join you."

They said quick good-byes, Helen making sure to exchange pleasantries with both of the elder Malfoy's before making her way to the ticket counter.

This summer was already turning out to be a pain.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _I know, I know, I'm really sorry about how long this chapter took and especially sorry to the people who PM'd me and received optimistic and inaccurate release dates. Summer is a bad writing time for me. Regardless, the chapter's here now and longer than ever, possibly the longest chapter the story will have. Updates should start coming more quickly now._

 _The next chapter will be a bit of a filler, but I'll finally reveal the timeline this story takes place in, which a few people have asked about, and things will start to get a little more (or a lot more) Greek._

 _Helen Wins at Quidditch Too Much: I know, it seems Mary-Sueish that she keeps winning all these Quidditch Matches that Harry lost or didn't participate in Canon. In my head, Helen isn't really a better flier or Quidditch player than Harry, she's just a lot more desperate to win, often at the expense of common sense. I have this occurring for a reason and we'll get a little more into it and what it says about Helen as the story progresses. Madam Pomfrey actually touches on it this chapter._

 _Dursley's and the Church of England: I wasn't trying to insult anyone who only goes to church on the holidays or not at all. I only added it to emphasize that the Dursley's are religious for appearances, not faith. It also helps shape Helen's currant opinion on all religious systems._

 _Wizards and the Gods: Wizards believe in most of the older poly-deity religions in this story. They worship them; many families worship a few or one in particular. Some of them are rather geography based (Thor would be more worshipped by northern European wizards than a Chinese wizard for example) but Greeks, Romans and Egyptians are the most widespread. The wizards aren't aware that the Greeks and Romans are essentially the same beings (that knowledge has been lost) and treat them as separate though similar entities._

 _The Malfoy's and Hera: it was too perfect for me to resist considering how family motivated and snooty the Malfoy's are. Not to mention the fact they keep peacocks at their manner._

 _Cecile the Boggart: Let's just say Cecile is her nephew on the Greek side of the family for now. Helen will figure it out later. Honestly, I love Cecile, expect him to pop up more often._

 _Snape Not pushing for Sirius' Death: Don't get me wrong, Snape still_ _ **hates**_ _Sirius with a burning passion. He went to talk to the Headmaster about Helen's suspicions because he trusts her a lot more than Harry and also he didn't want to leave the chance of Lily's actual betrayer running free if he could do anything to change it. He has no sympathy for Sirius, just a list of priorities in his vengeance._

 _Helen's Patronus: I struggled with this a lot. Originally, it was going to be a boar for Ares, as symbolism for the fact that it's traits from Ares that she uses to protect herself. But the more I thought about it, the less it seemed like enough for a guardian spirit. Lily had literally died for Helen, stood between her and a murderer, had the chance to walk away but didn't. Lily protected Helen the most fiercely, gave the most, tried the hardest, was the most effective (James also sacrificed but it isn't his spell that protects Helen today, it's Lily's) when it came to protecting her daughter. Helen had this sacrifice ringing in her ears all year. I think it would affect her enough to see Lily as a guardian, thus the doe Patronus. No two Patroni are exactly alike, so her's will be a little different from Snape's but we won't get a comparison for awhile._

 _Well I hope you enjoyed this lengthy chapter!_


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